


A Gamble of Pirates

by Raddtaire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Pirate, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Pirates, Secret Identity, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26724988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raddtaire/pseuds/Raddtaire
Summary: “You’re gambling a wedding and getting killed by a pirate. That’s either stupidity or madness.”When Enjolras' birthday party is crashed by a pirate crew robbing everyone on the island, his first thought is to use the commotion to escape his betrothal to a future duke. It works, sort of. Soon he's caught up in life at sea as he joins the pirates on a rescue mission of their first mate's younger brother who's been abducted by rival pirates. Enjolras doesn't know if he'll ever see his home again, or why he can't stop thinking about the pirate captain known as R who he helped escape the island.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

Enjolras was running. He was running not toward safety, but away from danger, which made it all the more difficult to make his flight appear normal and unimportant in the middle of the biggest party the island had seen in ten years. He’d only promised the duke’s son a dance because he’d thought he could avoid him the whole night by dancing with friends, or claiming a turned ankle, but Combeferre had come down with a cold, Courfeyrac had vanished with a visiting countess, and the duke’s son had snuck up on him and seen him walking normally. 

So on the night of his twentieth-second birthday for which the governor of the island, his father, had thrown the biggest party in years for the sole purpose of finding his unwed son an eligible match, Enjolras was dodging past waiters and scattered, surprised guests and away from his noblest and wealthiest prospect. It was not how he had wanted to celebrate his birthday.

Rounding a corner just a little too fast, he narrowly avoided knocking over a vase full of flowers and slipped into the library. With his hand on the knob to keep the latch from clicking and giving him away, he pulled the door nearly shut. Through the sliver of light, the duke’s son, ablaze in crimson silk, looked both ways down the hall, apparently puzzled, and passed on. Enjolras pulled the door fully shut and let out the breath he had been holding. 

“Forgive me,” a voice said, “I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.” 

In what should have been a deserted room was a man. He stood by a table in the center of the room piled with books and paper, and he was looking at Enjolras like he was calculating how much he would need to bribe him. His coat was forest green velvet with gold buttons, and he held a book in one gloved hand. He had dark hair that had undoubtedly been tamed and pulled back when the night started, but it had since shook itself free. Enjolras was quite sure he had never seen him before in his life.

“I’m not supposed to be here either.” Enjolras admitted. 

“You’re the governor’s son.” The man said slowly, and his eyes flicked between Enjolras and the door, “Why aren’t you out there at your party? Are you not enjoying it?” 

“I’d enjoy it a great deal more if I wasn’t supposed to end up engaged by the end of it.” Enjolras said. He knew he should know who he was speaking to before he spoke so candidly, but the man didn’t seem like the royalty and nobility Enjolras had been introduced to. This was a man who was also hiding in the library. 

“I don’t not envy you there.” The man said with a wry smile. 

“You’re not hiding from betrothals as well, are you?” 

“No,” The man laughed softly. “I’m afraid I just prefer books to parties.” The lilt in his speech sounded almost fresh from the continent. Enjolras scanned the guest list in his memory, trying to remember who had been invited.

“Don’t let me intrude on your reading. I’m going to hide here as long as I can.” 

“You won’t stay here _all_ _night_ , will you? And miss your party?” 

“It’s not for me, not really.” Enjolras said. The man’s eyes were large and deep under thick brows, Enjolras saw as he moved toward the table the man stood at. He was handsome in a rakish way, even with a nose that had surely been broken before. 

“It’s for my father.” He continued, “And the duke I suppose. They’re announcing my betrothal to the duke’s son at midnight.”

“Hell of a birthday present.” The man muttered, and then leaned toward him over the table conspiratorially, “I have a few friends out there. Need a hand getting smuggled to your room?”

“I like how you think, but that’s the first place they’ll look for me when they realize I’m missing. And you’d surely lose your place.” Enjolras said, nodding to the book in the man’s hand. 

“Oh, Catullus and I are old friends. I was just admiring your edition: it’s so rare to find an uncensored volume.” Was it Enjolras’ imagination, or did the man wink at him too fast to tell? The man didn’t seem like nobility, but his voice was smooth and well-mannered. If he wasn’t nobility, he had all the training of nobility. 

“No, helping you escape a party and a spouse is much more interesting. Tell me: why don’t you want to get married?”

“It’s not marriage in general I disagree with.” Enjolras said, ““It’s just that I don’t particularly want to marry anyone at this party.” 

On closer inspection, the table that separated them was covered in maps with shipping lines dancing over them in blue and red ink. He recognized them as the ones that had been delivered to his father the morning before yesterday. Strange, he hadn’t remembered them being set out when he’d been in the library before the party. 

The man was nodding. “You’re not inflamed by ardent love for anyone here?” 

“I don’t particularly _like_ anyone here.” 

“And if you’re to spend the rest of your life with someone, that is the minimum of requirements.” The man stepped around the table to stand next to him, his hip leaning against the wood. “But your father has other priorities.” 

“He’s already been in negotiations with the duke about his son for a year, and trying to persuade me to agree for more than that.” 

“Which one is the duke’s son?” 

“The one in red and black.” 

“Not the one who seems to have no awareness of the volume of his voice when he speaks?” 

Enjolras burst out laughing before he could think better of it. “You said it, not me.” 

“Imagine failing spectacularly in politics because you can’t whisper. He’ll shout royal secrets across entire ballrooms without realizing what he’s doing.”

“He’s not smart enough to realize.” 

“How does someone with all the power and money of a duke produce a son like that, do you think?”

“Perhaps I’m being too hard on him.” 

“You’re probably not.” He said emphatically. “You really can’t marry him, you’re right. Alright then, a new plan. First: gumption.” The man pulled a flask, battered and well worn, from within his coat and unscrewed the cap. Enjolras took the flask, but hesitated before drinking.

He wished even more now he had started with some proper introductions when he first came into the library. He was supposed to know everyone at the party, but he would never have missed this man before. He would have remembered his eyes, or the quickness of his wit or how he gestured with his hands. How did the man end up at the party without knowing who the duke’s son was either, Enjolras wondered. 

His thoughts must have read as hesitation over the flask. “It’s just rum.” The man reassured him. “It’s strong, but I think strong might be what you need right now.” 

That was curious too. Everyone dancing just down the hall thought rum was beneath them: that was what commoners and sailors and pirates drank. Enjolras took a short swallow. It was quite strong and spiced, and although he still coughed, it wasn’t unpleasant. He handed the flask back and the man took a drink as well before replacing it in his coat pocket. 

“Second: marriage. You’re twenty-two as of today?” Enjolras nodded and thought quietly that that was a faux pas none of the guests his father invited would have allowed themselves to make in front of him. “Well that’s not very old at all,” the man continued, “Especially for a modern man. You could reach twenty-five or even twenty-seven before people begin really talking about you behind your back. Tell your father that, that you are only at the beginning of what is a very long window.” 

“He knows as well as I do, but he’s adamant about this match.”

The man put an arm around his shoulders as he spoke and walked them slowly back toward the library door. “Combine that argument with the truth: that you want at least some amount of love to be a part of your match. You’re his only son, and he has to care about your happiness, doesn’t he? Tell him that your mother shouldn’t have raised you on fairy tales and fantasy if she didn’t want you to take ‘happily ever after’ to heart.” 

Enjolras found himself led by the gentle hand in the middle of his back while part of his mind sputtered. As a child, his mother had loved telling him fairy tales because he had loved hearing them so much. It wasn’t that it was a secret, but Enjolras couldn’t bring to mind anyone outside of Combeferre and Courfeyrac who would have known something so intimate about him. 

“If he still won’t listen,” the man continued, “you have a spirit fiercer than anyone in that ballroom: threaten to ruin the party. Cause a great scene, knock over a lamp, get obnoxiously drunk, dance very, very badly.” 

“From fairy tales to arguments, how do you know me so well, when I’m certain you and I have never met before tonight?” Enjolras asked, his mind still spinning. 

“Third: let’s make you look a bit less like you’ve been running away from suitors.” The man said with a wry smile and no answer to Enjolras’ question. He smoothed the shoulders of Enjolras’ coat, straightened his shirt, and finally pulled his gloves off to brush his hair away from his face and twist it back into something like its earlier elegance. 

Enjolras watched his hands. They moved deftly and quickly, and without his gloves Enjolras could see a myriad of hairline scars across his hands, the callouses on his palms, and nails that were blunt and short. The skin on the backs was tanned dark by the sun, and just inside the cuff of his shirt on the soft skin of his wrist, the lines of something inked into his flesh peered out. Something, some life, had made his hands skilled and scarred. No other guest at the party had hands like that. 

“There: you can hardly tell you left the party.” The man said, pulling his gloves back on quickly. He had noticed Enjolras looking. “Remember, it’s a party for _you_ , because it’s _your_ _birthday_ , and if you spend the whole of your twenty-second birthday hiding in a library not having any fun, it means they’ve won.” 

He was tempted; he _did_ feel put out for not being able to enjoy his own birthday. And Enjolras liked this man, this stranger, who was so quick with a joke. But something was off, something he couldn’t shake: this man was trying to get him to rejoin his party too much, Enjolras realized. 

“This is all very kind of you.” Enjolras said, “And it means so much to me, but, really, I’m not going to go back out there. Not for quite a while at least.” 

“Then I can help you sneak out altogether. It’s a clear night, and I know a tavern by the port where we can toast to you properly.” This time when the man put his hand on Enjolras’ back again, it was firm as well as gentle. 

“Everyone’s supposed to stay away from the port; the Royal Navy saw pirates coming up the coast.” The man’s goal wasn’t necessarily for him to rejoin the party, just to get him to leave the library. He had been doing something before Enjolras walked in, something Enjolras wasn’t supposed to see. 

“No, I’m going to stay here.” Enjolras said. He turned slightly, so that the man’s hand was still on his shoulder, but now his back was against the bookcase flanking the door and he couldn’t be just pushed out. “You’re welcome to go back to reading, if you like.” 

The man froze for just a moment and then he sighed quietly, as if he’d been greatly inconvenienced. His face changed, all at once, as if he had stepped off stage from a play and shrugged off a very heavy costume. He was still charming, rakishly so, but there was a spark in his eye, a shift in his entire body’s sway, and Enjolras could see now in the dim light of the lamps, a thin white scar running down his forehead over his left eye. 

“This is going to be a problem.” The man muttered. The faint lilt in his voice Enjolras had puzzled about before was gone. 

He had scarcely said it when the door to a cupboard on the other side of the room burst open and a man in a waiter’s uniform fell out and rolled across the floor with a grunt. 

“Fuck, shit, sorry!” The man groaned. “My ass is asleep. I can’t feel my legs. Lost my balance, and couldn’t stop myself.”

Through a small door to a parlor in the corner, another man in a footman’s livery walked in carrying a bag that clinked as he moved. “Bossuet, get your ass off the floor. R, the upstairs is done. It’s time to - oh.” The man stopped and looked between Enjolras and the man whose hand still rested on his shoulder. 

“That’s going to be a problem.” The new man said. 

The man in green still hadn’t moved, hadn’t even looked away from Enjolras. Men he didn’t recognize, who seemed just a little off from the party-goers he normally met, hiding in unused rooms with valuables and trying to get him to leave. What had he, the one the false footman called R, said when Enjolras had come in: _I don’t think I’m supposed to be here_. 

Enjolras twisted out of his grasp, grabbed for the brass candelabra on the table, and swung blindly. The man, the pirate, ducked out of the way, but Enjolras felt the edge of a brass arm connect as the candles rolled scattered and sputtering across the floor. The man dressed as a footman was running to the other man on the floor, and as he passed the fireplace, he grabbed the iron poker from its stand and tossed it into mid air. R caught it as Enjolras swung again and twisted to block him. The sound of clashing metal rang through the room. 

“What do we do with him?” The man in the footman’s uniform was helping the other man off the floor and watching the two of them. R wasn’t just a pirate: he was their leader, Enjolras realized. 

“Go.” R said, never taking his eyes off Enjolras. “I’ll take care of this.” 

Enjolras swung again, and again R countered. And as Enjolras attacked, R pushed him back and followed. He swung the candelabra up in time to block another blow, and then another, and then another: he had to be fast, faster than R. But as R swung and Enjolras barely caught the point between the arms of the candelabra in time, he wondered if he would die in his father’s library, in a fight with a pirate, a piece of cast iron pierced through his stomach. Hands sweating against his makeshift weapon, Enjolras felt the poker whisk past him inches away as he leapt over a table to put any obstacle between them. 

R was clearly more used to fighting than he was, but Enjolras knew the space, the floors, the furniture, had run around it since he was a boy evading his tutors. As R pushed him back further, he knew the chaise was coming up behind him and vaulted himself over it before R could corner him against it. When R knocked the candelabra out of his hand, Enjolras reached behind him and knew his hand would connect with the end table that held the vase of flowers. R dodged the water and the roses, but the vase brought down on his arm finally made him drop the poker. For a second, the two of them stood watching each other, still.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” R said. He drew a long knife out of his boot in a motion so casual and familiar, he might have been born with a knife strapped to his shin.

“Why should I believe you?” Enjolras took a step back as R took a step toward him and felt his back run into the bookshelves. With one hand behind him, he felt for a book.

“Because —“

Enjolras threw a book at his face, pages fluttering, and when R ducked, he made a break for the door. R was faster. He caught him with an arm around his shoulders and spun him back against the bookshelf, holding him with one hand around his throat. The knife in his other hand was not close enough to touch his face, but it was altogether too close. 

“I know it’s your birthday,” R said, “but I would appreciate if you would play nicely.” 

Enjolras spit in his face, and in the half second that R flinched, Enjolras brought his knee up into his stomach. With their bodies pressed together, he heard the soft grunt, and he twisted away and made it to the door. R followed like a shadow behind him. 

Enjolras tipped an end table and another vase down behind him as he ran, hoping it would slow R down. His mind churned as he bolted down the hallway. He was in danger, of that there was no doubt, and R was a better fighter, so gaining the advantage on him in another fight was unlikely. However, it occurred to him as R’s steps gained behind him, all R’s blows had seemed to be aimed to stop him, but not to kill him outright. 

If R was a pirate and he and his crew were robbing the house, there was no reason Enjolras could find why R would not simply kill him. But if R wasn’t trying to fight lethally, if he was going out of his way not to, maybe Enjolras has a chance. 

The sound of music and people laughing rose around another corner and behind him came the clap of boots on the floor tiles. He was caught between a party and a pirate. 

“Enjolras!” 

He stopped narrowly before slamming into an older woman fanning herself heavily. Augustine, his mother’s sister’s mother-in-law, was trailed by her husband and nieces, and didn’t seem to mind that he had nearly bowled her over. Rather, she grasped Enjolras’ arm in an iron grip and began talking. 

“Happy birthday, my darling. My, what a party your father has thrown! I suppose we know who the grandest family in the colony is now. Wasn’t I just saying so, Wallace?” Her husband, who Enjolras remembered was rather hard of hearing, nodded absently. Augustine continued, seeming not to notice that Enjolras was looking around frantically.

“So exciting to think that you might be engaged by the end of the night, and so many good matches to be had. I think the duke’s son is the obvious choice personally, but the count’s daughter or either of the baron’s twins, or the baron himself, even, he’s not all that old, and he’s been widowed for long enough now. Yes, so many fine choices for you, my boy. Oh, is this one of your potential prospects? You there, you’re a suitor we haven’t seen yet! Are you here to ask for our Enjolras’ hand?” 

Enjolras whirled around and realized with horror that the pirate had found him, and that Augustine was speaking to him. R’s knife was out of sight, Enjolras noticed, and as he turned toward Augustine, he straightened up and was, quite suddenly, not a rogue, but an interesting, foreign party guest. 

“Of course,” He said with a smile and a slight bow to Augustine, “although I don’t think I have the capital or the pedigree to be considered a serious contender.” Enjolras could feel his eyebrows rising into his hair. How was one supposed to react when you fought a pirate in the library and in the same breath he professed to a great aunt that he sought your hand in marriage? 

“Oh come now, you must have something to offer the man of the night? Even a small estate? Or a respectable position?”

R laughed ruefully, “I have only my heart, my soul, all my devotion and desire to be his.” Enjolras met his gaze for just a moment. He was an artist if he could make himself blush on command like he was now. “That, and only one horse!” Even Wallace laughed with his wife. 

“Well, Enjolras will have to give you a dance, won’t you my dear. That will be your consolation prize.” Augustine declared and looked expectantly at Enjolras. Enjolras looked to her and then R. If R was playing a role, for what ungodly reason he couldn’t discern, he could too. 

“I would love to dance.” Enjolras said graciously. R blinked once, slowly, and that was all that he gave away. 

“It would be an honor.” R nodded. As if on cue, the musicians began a new song. Enjolras took the arm offered to him and wondered faintly what game they were both playing. 

The music swelled, and Enjolras stepped onto the bright ballroom floor for the first time that night. It was one of the traditional dances, in which couples went back and forth from each other in lines, and Enjolras discovered a problem. 

“What are you playing at?” He whispered to R. He had to speak quickly: they only paused for a moment close enough to speak before dancing back from each other again. 

“What are _you_ playing at?” R countered on their next meeting. 

“What am _I_ playing at?” Enjolras felt his voice grind in the back of his throat as he kept his voice to a whisper and danced back again.

“You haven’t called for help.” R said, and danced back. “You haven’t called for guards.” Dancing. “Instead of asking for help,” More dancing. “You tried to kill me with a candlestick.”

“You tried to kill me first!” 

“I did not!”

Enjolras remembered why he didn’t like dancing, but he was surprised that R could not only dance, but dance well. He moved lightly and gracefully as they came back together and joined hands to turn together. 

“You stumbled into a burglary. I couldn’t let you blow the whole thing open.” 

“You’re doing a great job so far.” Enjolras scoffed. 

“Apparently I am though, because you haven’t alerted the guards. Why is that?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense.” 

The music changed key, the tempo ticked upward, and the grids of dancers dissolved as couples found each other and began to turn around the room with rising energy. R took his hand and Enjolras felt his other on his back and then they were turning around the room with the other couples. 

“I understand robbing the governor, but why now? Why in the middle of a party with witnesses everywhere? You realize all the good silver is in people’s hands right now, don’t you?” 

R laughed, they were close enough that Enjolras could feel it. “Just because your birthday is the place to be doesn’t mean we spent the whole night here.”

Enjolras looked around and felt R laugh again as he watched Enjolras realize: if all the aristocracy from the island and elsewhere besides was here, then their estates were empty. The party had been in full swing for four hours, which would have been plenty of time to rob...how many places before the governor’s son’s birthday? Three? Five? Surely, not ten? Enjolras nearly stumbled, but R caught them and kept leading them through the other dancers.

“Now help me understand: what are _you_ doing?” R turned them at just the right spot so Enjolras could spin out and be drawn back in. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a few people watching. Above the music, he heard someone say, “...what a lovely couple.” 

“You’re going to ruin my party one way or another. I need you to ruin it at the right time.” As soon as he said it, Enjolras knew it was a plan that could work. “If I scream for guards and expose you now, you’ll be arrested, violently and immediately. Or killed. The party will be infamous and my father will announce my betrothal as soon as he knows we’re both alive. But if this crashes the right way, any chance of my engagement is ruined.” 

“So you _are_ going to expose us, but at the moment it works best for you.”

“I’m playing a long game, and I need to win.” 

“Not that you could understand what would make my crew do something like this, but it’s for a better reason than not marrying an aristocrat.” R said, bitterly.

“Don’t mock me.” Enjolras said just as fiercely. 

“I’m not. It must be terrible to face down the rest of a life full of safety and comfort.” 

“You don’t know anything about my life.” 

“You’re gambling a wedding and getting killed by a pirate. That’s either stupidity or madness.”

“You said yourself you didn’t want to hurt me.” 

“And you have no reason to believe I won’t.” 

The music suddenly swelled and Enjolras recognized the push before the end, the way the strings were going to rise to the end of the song so the dancers could all separate and bow and curtsy to each other and then find the next name on their dance card. R seemed to realize it too, and he spun them off the ballroom floor, abruptly cutting off another couple’s turn. 

“Whatever you’re planning isn’t going to work,” R’s arm was around him as they whisked through the open doors and down a hall, as if they were a couple a little in love and a little drunk looking for a private moment. “So if you’re not going to do anything, just go back to your party—“

As they rounded a corner and lost sight of the ballroom, Enjolras pulled back and swung. He’d never hit anyone before, not in the face, at least, and his hand hurt when it connected with R’s jaw, but not as much, he suspected, as R’s jaw hurt now. The next time he swung, R ducked and then, patience apparently lost, lunged. Enjolras looked around in despair at the empty hallway as they grappled. R was made for brawling, and with his back up against the wall, Enjolras wouldn’t last long.

A door swung open and hit the wall next a matter of inches from Enjolras’ face, and both men froze, hands locked on each other’s arms and shoulders. One of the servants’ hallways, Enjolras realized. The doors were flush with the walls, making them easy for the cooks and waiters to refresh the ballroom with drinks and food, and easy for guests to miss. In half a second, Enjolras realized, a waiter would come out carrying champagne, food, linens, ice, anything, and they would be caught. 

The clink of many glasses and the tremble of wheels came from just inside the door. Enjolras thought quickly: the noise plus the hour the last time he had checked indicated it was, probably, a cart packed with dozens of champagne flutes. It would have to be maneuvered out the door slowly, so as not to break any of the delicate glasses. This meant they had two, maybe three, seconds more until discovery, and that the hour was much closer to midnight than Enjolras had thought. 

“Follow my lead.” Enjolras whispered, and turned them into a tiny alcove set into the wall. They were crowded by a Greek statue his father had brought back from a trip, but it mostly worked. Soon, though, the cart would come fully out of the hallway, Enjolras could still hear the thin glass rims jingling like so many bells, and then the waiter would start for the ballroom, bringing him right past them. 

“What now?” R breathed, his face bare inches away.

They had three seconds, perhaps five. The alcove was narrow enough that Enjolras was pressed against the wall and R against him. It wasn’t unusual for party-goers to retreat to these alcoves, but it was normally under very different circumstances for very different reasons. 

There - _there_ \- was an idea. Not a good one, not even a preferable one, but with the drink cart’s inexorable approach, it was the only one. 

“Follow my lead.” Enjolras whispered, tightening his grip on R’s coat. Then he closed the distance between their faces and kissed him. R made an undignified noise, but caught on and leaned into Enjolras as the sound of the cart grew. It was fortunate, he supposed that embraces in violence and affection could look so similar. 

As the sound of the waiter’s cart reached their alcove and began to pass, R eased his hands from Enjolras’ shoulders to his back and kissed his mouth open. Enjolras’ head reeled. He was shaking with the adrenaline from fighting and dancing and fighting and running in between all of it, and now his body was responding to the heat and touch from this man pressed against him. R was kissing him better than anyone ever had before, had undone the buttons of his coat the better to touch him, and the attention of his mouth and hands made Enjolras lightheaded. He lifted his hands to tangle in R’s hair, and R laughed against his mouth. The wicked sound rolled up Enjolras’ spine like fire. 

“If you want to keep fighting like this, I’m game.” R murmured against his mouth. 

“Fuck you.” Enjolras hissed. 

“Like I said.” R kissed him again Enjolras felt a firm hand grasp his ass. 

Enjolras pulled himself out of the reverie and stumbled from the alcove. The waiter with his cart was long gone. How long he had been gone, Enjolras had no idea, but his entire body was vibrating, like ringing coming off a bell. R’s eyes had a dark glow to them that made Enjolras feel not unlike a fox in sight of a hound. 

“It’s not a bad idea, you know.” R said as he stepped out of the alcove and smoothed the lapels of his coat. “It would keep you out of sight from your suitors, _and_ you’d be out of the way and quiet while my crew finishes here. Well, hopefully not _too_ quiet.” 

“You’re a scoundrel.” 

“So I’m told.” Enjolras danced away from R’s reach as he tried to pinch his ass again, “Listen, my crew and I have a lot riding on this, and you’ve caused me a fair bit of frustration tonight.” R didn’t even turn away when he reached into his trousers to adjust himself. “I said I didn’t want to hurt you, but I can’t let you go freely, knowing what you know, knowing you’re going to expose us, so you’re just going to have to come with me.” 

“Like hell I am.” Every step Enjolras took back was a step R took toward him. 

The clock in the hall began to toll, and R stopped. Enjolras turned to follow his gaze and horror uncurled in his stomach. It was midnight. His father was going to announce the engagement at midnight. If he wanted to ruin his engagement, he had to act now.

“Time’s up, I’m afraid.” 

_Not just yet,_ Enjolras thought, _not for me at least_. 

He whirled around before R could reach for him again. Two swords were mounted on the wall on either side of a portrait of his father, and Enjolras sighed in relief when the one he reached for slid out of its mounted sheath and into his hand without resistance. He had no idea if it had ever been used, or if it was even sharp, but it wasn’t nothing. 

When he turned around R was already reaching for his saber’s pair, cursing up and down that he didn’t have time for this. In nine fights out of ten with R, Enjolras would lose, but with a sword, Enjolras could not just hold his ground but move, could attack, could win. In R’s eyes there was a brief flash of something like surprise and respect as he was forced to parry his attacks over and over. The clock was still tolling behind him, the bells coming softly under the clash of steel. 

Enjolras led their back and forth around a corner, and blocked an attack R narrowly slipped in. As he advanced, one arm thrown behind him for balance, R gave ground only slowly, flitting from one side of the hall to the next. R had some training, that much was evident, but Enjolras’ was a touch faster and cleaner. The only advantage R had was that it had never occurred to Enjolras to slip close to his opponent in an opening and hit him in the face: he gave R that. 

He shook his head, blinking rapidly, and charged after R who was bolting for the double doors of the library. They had made their way back around the hall, he realized. R was on the threshold when Enjolras thrust the point of his sword between his feet and tripped him on the flat of the blade. Without losing momentum, R hit the ground and rolled over one shoulder to come back up on his feet, and lunged into another attack. 

Enjolras could see on his peripheries, there were now other people in the library, maybe a dozen, but R was the one he kept his gaze on. The new people moved back as their duel moved them into the center of the library, nearly in the same space that they had been in when their fight started. Enjolras could see a few of them in uniforms or party attire and guessed, since they didn’t seem to be shocked at the clash of steel, that they were R’s crew. Pirates. 

“You’re late!” Someone across the room called to R. 

“I’m busy!” R parried Enjolras attack, a hair slower than he had moments ago. He was getting tired.

On instinct, Enjolras attacked again. R responded in kind, as Enjolras knew he would, and for a moment they were locked together inches apart with their swords crossed overhead. When R winked at him and his sword began to shift into another attack, Enjolras kicked him in the knee. A wave of gasps and cries sounded as R crumpled, and the circle of pirates tightened around them. To his credit, R kept hold of his sword as he fell, but when he rolled up onto his knees in the space of a breath, Enjolras’ sword was waiting for him. 

R looked down at the tip hovering at his chest, and then his gaze followed the length of the blade up Enjolras’ arm. There was genuine surprise in his eyes. He smiled, not mockingly this time, but a little sadly, and tossed his sword away so it clattered across the floor. With his heart under the point of Enjolras’ sword, R settled onto his heels so he was kneeling on the rug and opened his hands before him.

“That was cheating.” R said. 

“This,” Enjolras said, waving his free hand at the rest of the room, “is robbery.” 

The sound of many pistols cocking and weapons being unsheathed came like the tuning of an orchestra in the circle surrounding them. Enjolras glanced up quickly to take stock: he was surrounded by close to a dozen pirates with well over a dozen guns pointed at him. He was outnumbered but with R in front of him, not quite at the point of surrender. It was a delicate balance.

“Now, now.” R said slowly. “Lower your guns, everyone. Let’s not be hasty.” 

“But, Captain...” One of the men began. 

“We’re not going to shoot the governor’s son. After all, tonight isn’t just his birthday, it’s his betrothal.” Enjolras’ sword rose from R’s heart to his throat as he spoke, “It would be rude.” 

“I’m losing patience.” Enjolras said. With the point of his sword, he tipped R’s chin up to look at him. The man’s breaths were still rapid and shallow from the fight.

“As am I.” The pirate across from Enjolras said. She seemed to have been wearing a gown earlier as part of a disguise, but had discarded it, and now stood in a corset, boots, and jacket with her petticoats girded and pistols in both hands. 

“Captain, it is my strong recommendation that we shoot him and leave immediately.” 

“We are not shooting him, Eponine. That is a _direct order_.” R’s eyes were still on Enjolras and his chin still raised, exposing the length of his throat. 

“Bloody hell, why not?” 

“Yes,” Enjolras said, slowly, “why not?” 

A knock like the hammer of a gavel in a death sentence came at the door of the library, a knock like a demand that every gun in the room swing immediately toward it. One of the crewmembers had barricaded the double doors, but with only library furniture, it wouldn’t hold long under serious duress. 

“Enjolras!” His father’s valet hollered from outside and the knob rattled in the door ominously, “I know you’re in there. Your father demands your presence in the ballroom.” 

“What now, R?” The woman hissed.

R looked up at Enjolras, sword still under his jaw. “Any ideas?” R asked him.

“Enjolras!” His father’s voice roared from behind the door. “Enjolras, I will not have this! You have sixty seconds to come out or we will break the doors down and drag you out!”

“Fuck,” R breathed, “this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Looks like we’re shooting our way out, boys.” The woman said, and this time the edge of her voice was raw. 

“It’s been an honor and a privilege.” One man said. 

“I love all of you.” Said another. 

“Wait.” Enjolras said. 

The wheels in his mind were spinning. The pirates must have planned to sneak out as quietly as they got in, and now, with no other way out, they would have to fight their way to the door on the other side of the house. His father only had a handful of guards, but half the upper-officers of the Royal Navy were guests in the ballroom as well. Pirates were never tried, only executed, they must have known that as well as Enjolras did. The pirates had desperation on their side, which made them twice as dangerous, but not more effective. Party-goers and pirates alike would die when the doors opened.

“Wait.” Enjolras said again.

What if he made it out into the hall without anyone seeing inside the library? Possible, but there was no way of knowing how many people were in the hall, or if they would all proceed back to the ballroom. It was equally possible that his father would see his son, (jacket undone, hair in disarray, a bruise he could feel growing on his cheekbone, looking like he had just fought someone through the house, absconded with them into an alcove, and then chased them into the library, which looked similarly ransacked), and demand both an explanation and a search of the library to see what his son had been doing and with who. There was no chance to mess up, and no good choices. Unless…

“Take me as a hostage.” 

“What in hell is he talking about?” The woman asked.

“You’re mad.” R said. 

“Take me as a hostage.” Enjolras dropped his sword from R’s throat and tossed it down. “Use me to get out.” 

“You are mad.” R said, and rose to stand. “But maybe also genius.”

Once R was on his feet, the crew flew into action and gathered up the pilfered valuables and bags of coin. Without a word, R pulled Enjolras’ cravat free of its knot around his neck. The blue silk loosed its hold instantly, letting his collar fall open, and with deft hands, R wrapped it around Enjolras’ wrists, binding them with a knot that would not come undone too easily. 

“Is that necessary?” Enjolras asked archly. 

“We don’t want anyone to get any ideas, like you volunteered.” R said, undoing his own cravat and pulling his gloves off. “You know, there’s no guarantee that I won’t kill you later just because I haven’t killed you yet.”

“I like my odds.” 

When the governor, his assistant, a butler, and three guards brought along specifically in case the governor’s son put up a fight, burst through the library doors, they found Enjolras with a knife at his throat held by a pirate captain and a dozen pirates flanked around him telling the governor and his employees that everything would be fine so long as they stayed calm and followed instructions. The woman, Eponine, R had called her, led the string of pirates through the deserted halls. There was noise and music still coming from the direction of the ballroom. People were no doubt gossiping about the fact that the betrothal announcement was now a half hour late and the governor’s son hadn’t been seen since his turn about the room with that man in green. The governor blustered with threats and curses the whole way to the front door. 

Outside, the pirates commandeered an empty carriage and several horses, as the governor watched weakly from the door. Enjolras lifted himself into the saddle of a horse with help from a colossal man R called Bahorel. 

“You won’t get away with this!” The governor threatened weakly. 

R lifted himself onto the horse behind Enjolras. “If any imperial ships pursue, if I so much as suspect we’re being followed out of the harbor,” He said, gathering the reins, “I’m tossing him over the side of the ship.” 

Before the governor could retort, R dug his heels into the horse’s sides, and they shot forward. Enjolras would have turned to look back at his house, but the street vanishing under the horse’s hooves and the city rising up before them was too much to look away from. He had never been permitted to ride so fast before. The night breeze in his hair was intoxicating. 

The walls of the gardens of government officials’ houses gave way to the house fronts of merchants, and then the stoops of apartment buildings and the storefronts, lights glowing softly out of high windows. The cobbles vanished under their feet and Enjolras could barely keep track of where they were on the island. The sound of the carriages behind them was a roar. R kept a firm hold around his waist with one hand, and held the reins tight in the other, guiding them through the narrow streets until finally the port came into sight. 

R turned their horse sharply left in the main square. More shop windows and warehouses for the building of boats and fishing supplies, now shut up and locked for the evening, flew by. Enjolras could smell the salt air anywhere on the island, but now it was especially strong and tinged with the smells of oil, sawdust, and the remnants of the morning’s fish market. The winds were calm, making the tide sluggish and sending only ripples through the moonbeams reflected on the water’s surface. Their horse leapt right off the street and into the sand of the beach before slowing to a trot. 

Before the carriages had fully halted the pirates were leaping from them with the stolen loot and running in the darkness for the water. R pulled their horse to a halt and slid down easily before turning to help Enjolras down, his hands still bound. Freed of her riders, the horse happily wandered away. 

There were rowboats in the sand, he could see now. They had been hidden in the tall grass, but now the pirates had pulled them onto the sand and were heading for the water. R followed them, leading Enjolras with him by the arm, and something cold, like doubt, like the realization that he had made a very large decision impulsively, uncurled in Enjolras throat. 

“Do you really still need me for this?” R kept them moving, as if he hadn’t heard him, “You got out. You made your escape.” 

“We haven’t escaped until we’re at sea, and out of reach of either pursuit or retaliation. And we need a hostage for that.” R said finally. They had reached the boats and the boats had reached the water. R fit an arm around Enjolras’ waist to lift him into a boat, and then the pirates were pushing it into the tide. The shore drifted away as they rowed, slowly at first, and then very suddenly Enjolras couldn’t see the beach anymore in the dark. Twisting around, he saw only the expanse of black, bottomless ocean indistinguishable from the vast night sky. 

Or almost. There was a yellow light that Enjolras had thought was a star drawing closer and revealing itself to be a lamp, held somewhere high above the water. Just as quickly as the shore had vanished, the ship suddenly loomed in front of them. It felt enormous next to their tiny boat bobbing gently in the water. A long, high whistle came from above. R put two fingers in his mouth and answered it, the tone piercing through the air. Then there were many voices calling to steady the ship, and a knotted rope was lowered down to the first rowboat. One by one they went up and disappeared over the side and an empty rowboat was pushed away, riderless, to drift. R’s boat was the last one to ascend. As the first of their boat began to climb, R reached for Enjolras’ hands and picked apart the knot. 

“There.” R said, “Now, you next.” 

R and one of the other pirates held the rope as Enjolras began to climb. It was slow work, and he found his hands sweating unhelpfully as he climbed. The rope kept swaying with the ship, and every time he shifted his hands or feet his heart went into his throat with fear. And the ascent was much longer than it had originally looked. 

As he neared the deck, seemingly hours later, hands were thrust down to help him over the side. Enjolras was shaking from the climb. A woman standing at the railing who had helped him over, was counting the pirates quietly. 

“That’s everyone.” She declared.

“And this is the last of it.” R had pulled himself onto the ship on his own, and handed the woman a bag he’d tied to his belt. “Chetta, you and Joly gather the haul and start counting. Eponine and I will follow shortly. Bahorel, you’re at the helm: take us out of sight and south.” 

“What about the birthday boy?” Eponine asked. 

“Article 3: voting is suspended until we’re out of imminent danger.” 

“Are we in imminent danger?”

“Until dawn sees no one following us, yes.”

Eponine seemed to find R’s conclusion, if not satisfying, acceptable enough. “What if he tries something?” 

R turned to Enjolras. “Are you going to try anything?” 

“I’m outnumbered,” Enjolras shrugged, “We’re in the middle of the ocean, and I don’t know how to sail.” 

R turned back to Eponine, “There, you see?” 

“We can’t chart the course ahead if we haven’t decided how he factors into it.” Eponine said, “Are we dumping him on the other side of the island? Are we dropping him at a neighboring port? Is he coming the whole bloody way with us? Are we killing him and dumping his body should the navy follow?”

“We can’t know what to do with him until we know how much ocean we have to cross and how much time we have to do it,” R sighed, “but I see your point.” 

R bounded up the steps to the helm and turned around to face the ship. “Votes!” He shouted, and all the ship paused in their work and turned to him. “Preliminary votes! The situation as it stands: we have, somewhat unintentionally, abducted the governor’s son. Understanding that a more thorough plan can be made tomorrow evening, I, in the meantime, make two motions. First: I motion that we _not_ kill him.”

“I second that motion.” Eponine called out, to Enjolras’ surprise.

“All those in favor?” A chorus of ‘aye’s came from around the ship. Enjolras added his own, though he wasn’t sure if he was given a vote as a hostage. 

“Second: I motion that we set an intention to eventually return him home, or set him on another vessel which can faithfully be believed will return him home, so long as it does not unduly inconvenience or compromise our present mission.” 

“I second so long as we can emphasize that last part.” Called a man who had paused pulling up the anchor. “Our energy and focus should be spent getting to the black island.”

“Affirmed.” R said. “All in favor?” 

The ship seemed to pause, and everyone looked to Eponine. 

“Aye.” She said. The ship echoed her.

“Voting closed, to be resumed tomorrow evening.” R declared, and bounded back down the stairs. Everyone went back to their duties and R stopped with Eponine to talk about something quietly. The woman who had helped Enjolras onto the ship was making her way around gathering up the haul and taking it below deck. 

Enjolras realized that the bags of goods and coin were only a portion of what they had stolen; they all had stashed even more on their person, and began pulling it out of pockets and boots and folds of clothing. One of the men revealed that one of his bags was filled entirely with food he had pilfered from the kitchen: pies, pastry, a large box of tea, bags of spices, and an entire leg of cured ham shipped from Spain. 

“I thought we’d be hungry afterward!” He said proudly.

“This once, I have to agree with you.” She said. Eponine nodded to something R said and then disappeared below deck. R turned back to Enjolras. 

“I know we’ve put you through a bit tonight already, but I need to ask for your help again.” R said, “I can better explain below deck, if you don’t mind.” Enjolras nodded, although he felt very unsure how much choice he had in anything that was happening on the ship.

The short corridor they entered just under the helm was narrow but not as dark as Enjolras was expecting, due to faint light coming from an open door at the end of the hall, at the very tail of the ship, toward which R led him. 

“I thought you were the captain.” Enjolras said after a moment.

“I am, right now.” R answered.

“What do you mean, right now?” 

“Well, we all take turns. Musichetta was captain before me, Feuilly was captain before her, and I’m thinking of nominating Eponine when my term ends in October.” 

“You trade off on who owns the ship?”

As R spoke, he ran his hands through his hair, shaking it out from the little formal stiffness that still held. “We all own the ship. We all run it too. The captain is more of a...a chairman, if you will. We make decisions collectively, distribute resources equally, but if you’re trying to commandeer a ship and they want to negotiate a surrender, it goes smoother if they think they’re talking to ‘the captain.’” 

“So if you’re not really in charge…”

“Well, I am, it’s just I’m no more in charge than anyone else.” 

“What did you mean back there about article 3?”

“Article 3 of our bylaws.” R explained, unphased by his questions. “We vote on all major decisions within a short time of the precipitating event, but article 3 states that if we’re in danger and our safety or escape needs to take priority, we can suspend voting on course of action until we’re out of danger.” With that, R pushed the door open and waved Enjolras through. 

There were windows lining nearly half the room from which moonlight streamed in to mingle with the lamp light. Maps were tacked to the windowless walls, and at a large round table in the center of the room, a man counted coins and silver and jewelry from the bags the pirates had brought aboard. One of his legs just below the knee ended in a tapered piece of wood. 

“You’re the kidnapped prince.” The man said, looking up with a smile. He didn’t seem to mean it unkindly, and he stuck out a hand. “I’m Joly.” 

“Enjolras.” He said, shaking his hand.

“Joly, where did the library bag get to?” R asked. 

“Propped up in the corner, over there.”

R pulled out something tightly rolled up and unfurled it on the half of the table Joly wasn’t using. Enjolras recognized the map from the library that had been out on the table when he’d come in. It had been drawn up just a month earlier, and he recalled his father had been impatient to receive it. R let out a low whistle as he studied it, looking back and forth between the map on the table and one of the maps on the wall.

Enjolras followed R’s gaze back and forth. The two maps weren’t the same. They covered the same area of the caribbean, but the one on the wall was much older. The position of several islands had changed on the new map, lines deviated sometimes by entire grid spaces, and the new map had several military bases marked in his father’s handwriting that weren’t on the older map. 

“Is it good?” Eponine asked as she appeared in the door. She had changed clothes into trousers and a man’s linen shirt, but her hair was still held up in a mass of curls. 

“Good news: it’s more recent than ours, all reliable changes. Bad news,” R straightened up and pointed to a black line elegantly curving through the sea, “the royal navy’s new trade route for the season shares a path with us.” 

“Shit.” 

“Maybe, maybe not.” R looked up sharply at Enjolras. “Do you know what this trade route is for?” 

He motioned Enjolras over to the table where he stood in front of the map. Enjolras’ first instinct was to refuse, on principal of being obstinate, but curiosity was stronger. Tracing the line with his finger, he followed it from a corner of the map through its stops, elegantly annotated with his father’s hand. It made two stops, then checked in on the island with his father, then picked its way through the colonies before stopping farther south than Enjolras had ever gone. It seemed to be just a trade route, and there were hundreds if not thousands of those, carrying all manner of goods, none of which he’d paid attention to when his father had tried to lecture him on matters of state. 

The woman, Musichetta, R had called her, came in with a tray of tea and hand pies from the sack of stolen food. She handed everyone a tin mug of hot tea, including Enjolras, who sipped at it and traced the line on the map again. There was a method to the stops marked out on the map, if only he could figure it out. 

“Anything?” Eponine prompted him. 

“It’s shipments coming from England,” That much was evident from the corner of the map the trade line started from, “But it’s not just stopping at military bases. It looks like it’s making civilian stops too. So it can’t just be the Navy, it might also be goods: tea, ale, spices, things like that.”

R and Eponine shared a look. “We’re familiar with that shipment line,” The way Eponine said it made Enjolras think they were more than familiar, “but it doesn’t normally go that way.”

“They must have added stops.” Enjolras shrugged, “The colonies have been good to the crown. Maybe this line is picking up as well as delivering.” 

“It’s closer to the Navy than I’d like, but if the line doesn’t go through until August, we might still have time.” R said to Eponine.

“It’s already here.” The memory was just a flash, but Enjolras saw it with new understanding. He’d been waiting for his father to finish with work for the day, so he could try again to talk to him about the betrothal, and happened to see two dignitaries outside his father’s office. He’d overheard only snatches of their conversation: weather conditions, pay rates, they had brought his father a box of tea as a gift. He had absorbed it all then without knowing its import, but now the puzzle pieces snapped together.

“There were officers working on this shipment at my father’s house only two days ago.” He said, “They were saying something about the winds being favorable. I didn’t realize it at the time, but if they already saw my father, then the fleet could be anywhere and everywhere the route goes.”

“ _Shit_.” R wordlessly handed Eponine the flask from within his coat. 

“That leaves…” R groped for a handful of coins from the pile Joly had been counting, and laid them down in three lines, each descending from Enjolras home and ending in a spot of what appeared to be an empty ocean. “Route one, where we risk high traffic with navy guards,” he straightened the coins deviating off the trade line, “Route two, where we hope Babet’s in a good mood, and whichever Navy ship pinched Clasequeous last month is busy elsewhere, or route three.” R didn’t elaborate on route three, but Eponine’s looked distinctly more sour as he laid down a third line of coins furthest from the trade line. 

“Who’s Babet,” Enjolras asked cautiously, “and why does his mood factor into this?” 

“Another pirate. He and Claseqeous have controlled this area for the last five years,” R waved a hand over the last half of the second route, “and he can be particularly…”

“Aggressive?” Joly offered.

“Blood-thirsty.” Eponine countered. 

“Unforgiving and uncompromising of nuance.” R said, “But all that as well.” 

“What about route three?” Enjolras asked. 

“A pirate name of Thenardier controls it.” Eponine said, “Coincidentally, he’s also my father.” 

“It might be our best shot.” R murmured. “And we don’t exactly have time to spare.”

Eponine took another drink from R’s flask and handed it back. “We’ll vote on it tomorrow.” 

“You seem to be weighing a lot of bad to get to a place that’s not even on the map, not an official one.” Enjolras nodded to the map on the wall, the less recent one, had an ‘x’ circled in the ocean at the same place the coin routes on the newer map led to. 

The pirates’ plan, what little of it Enjolras could see, was being handled with a grim determination and necessitated taking large risks with the Royal Navy and other pirates. They hadn’t reveled in their stolen loot, and didn’t seem to be dividing it up between them. They voted on things and gave him tea even though he was technically kidnapped. These were not normal pirates, and an ‘x’ on a map probably didn’t lead to buried treasure. Something else was there. 

“It’s a pirate holdout, one of only a few left.” R said, “The Navy doesn’t know about them, hasn’t mapped them yet. To find it, you have to know where they are already. Pirates use them for business among ourselves.” 

“Does business mean battle?” 

“Doesn’t miss a thing, this one.” Eponine said, “Not always, but mostly, yes.” 

“Doing business on an island like that means less chance of outside interference than if you handled things in, say, Port Royal.” Joly added. 

“Law enforcement?” Enjolras asked.

“Civilian casualties, but the Navy too.” R said. “Settling business at a holdout like that means everyone knows what they’re going into. No one gets caught in the middle.” 

Enjolras opened his mouth to say something and found he didn’t know what to say. Nothing he had thought he had known about pirates was matching up with the reality he was experiencing. These pirates were people, and took pains to keep other people from getting hurt. They had robbed his house, but in disguise; their original plan would have left no one hurt and no one aware of their presence until they were long gone. 

“We’re not all savages.” Eponine said a touch archly. She must have seen what he was thinking on his face. “Our captain grew up on the very same island as you.”

R shot a look at Eponine without hiding it fast enough for Enjolras not to see. “Joly, how are we doing after tonight?” He asked quickly, and gathered up the coins on the map. 

“Good.” Joly said in a tone that implied things were not actually very good. “But how good will depend on the rates in Tortuga. There’s a lot of not-coin here we’ll have to get a good price for.” 

“We will.” Eponine said definitively. 

“You’re all in trouble, aren’t you?” Enjolras said.

The room went silent. R made his face carefully blank, Eponine’s mouth was a thin line, and Joly fastidiously kept counting out coins and noting the numbers with a short pencil. 

“Something’s going on. You’re running out of time, and you’re short on capital.” The connections were made in his mind as Enjolras spoke them, “And you’re scared.” 

“Not wrong there.” Eponine muttered. 

“I thought it was strange at first that you were robbing a party. All the best silver was out in use, my mother was wearing her best jewels, so you couldn’t take any of it. But you didn’t come for that: you came for the safe in my father’s office. Most of what you’ve got here is coin.” It was becoming clearer as Enjolras spoke, and as he put it all down it hit him. “You’re in debt to someone.” 

It was so clear now. They needed money, and they needed it too fast to amass a hoard of valuables they’d have to sell or fence. The party had been the perfect distraction for breaking into other aristocratic houses too, and if they had only broken into the safes of so many rich men, it would have left them enough time to get to the party and crack the safe of the governor: the richest man on the island, a man who sometimes acted as an extension of the royal bank right out of his house. 

“Not a debt: a ransom.” Eponine said. She took one of the pies Musichetta had left behind and pushed the tray across the table. “Don’t faint. You wore yourself out with that sleuthing. I’m going to see if there’s more tea.” With that, she left.

“Here, I’ll show you where you’ll sleep tonight.” R said. Enjolras snatched a pie on his way out, discovering that he was starving. 

“Her brother was taken a few weeks ago by another pirate crew.” R explained quietly in the hall. “We’re meeting them at the island to buy him back. And it’s lousy thanks for helping us escape, but that’s why we need you now. We can’t afford to lose any time fighting or out running a Navy ship that wants the governor’s money back.”

Enjolras swallowed. “Why would another crew do that? You’re all pirates.”

“Montparnasse doesn’t see it that way.” Grantaire said bitterly, “It doesn’t mean you have to become any more wrapped up in this than you already are. We’ll return you home safely as soon as we can.”

Enjolras’ laugh was dry in his throat. “Your crew will have to vote on that.” 

R stopped in the hall and turned to him, “Nothing’s going to happen to you while you’re on this ship, I promise.” He said. 

They had stopped at a door only a little ways from the map room that R pushed open. The room was the size of Enjolras’ closet at home, but it was clean and a porthole let in the moonlight. A hammock was already strung, and a set of blankets waited on a trunk in the corner. 

“It’s not anything like what you’re probably used to, I’m sorry.” R said, “And I’m sorry that everything happened tonight the way it did. It wasn’t supposed to. I never thanked you, for helping us escape.” 

“I’ve made it through the night and I’m still not betrothed.” Enjolras said, “so we both got something out of it.”

“I can’t help but think what you got is out of proportion to what you gave.” 

Enjolras only shrugged. If he was honest, he hadn’t thought too far ahead beyond getting out of his father’s house. Boarding the ship, spending what looked like it could be a long journey with pirates had never been part of the plan because he hadn’t thought that far ahead. 

R bid him goodnight and Enjolras was left alone with a dark room and his thoughts. He sat down in the hammock and rocked back and forth with the boat for a moment. 

Tears came unbidden and unexpected. The night had run without pause from the moment he tried to escape dancing with the duke’s son to finding himself on board a strange ship with no idea when he would see his own bedroom again, and now that he was alone, everything threw itself full force against his chest. Doubled over, he sobbed great gasps of air with his head in his hands and his whole being shaking down to his soul. 

Then a few feet away a small ‘mew’ made him look up. A ginger cat with enormous grey-green eyes nosed suspiciously at his shin. As he watched her look at him Enjolras slowly felt himself stop crying as he took deep shuddering breaths. The cat, in the way that cats did, passed through her suspicion of this new human very quickly and leapt up into his lap to purr and knead at his leg. 

Enjolras leaned back in the hammock and let his mind go blank for a while as he scratched along the cat’s back and around her ears. Her coat was glossy and soft, not at all dirty for a cat that lived on a ship, and she crawled up to his chest and purred contentedly until he fell asleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone needing some escapism on debate night.
> 
> EDIT: Yes, this will have multiple chapters, thank you everyone for the encouragement! I only posted it as a standalone first because I haven't posted in so long I forgot how.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras makes a decision, adjusts to life on a ship, and the crew procures a loan.

Enjolras woke up in the hammock, swaying with the rock of the ship. He had no idea what time it was beyond his body knowing it was time to be awake. After locating his coat, which he had folded on the trunk, and the lavatory out in the hall, he started for the light streaming down the stairs from the deck. 

It was a beautiful day, but Enjolras was glad that all the pirates on deck looked as groggy and tired as he felt. One of them called him over from where he sat in the slight shade of the mast, peeling potatoes. He was one of the biggest men in the crew and had a handsome, if slightly crooked face. He patted the seat next to him, a crate lashed to the mast base, and handed him one of the stolen pies from the night before.

“Enjoy it while it lasts before we go back to hardtack.” The pirate stuck out his hand after the pie, “I’m Bahorel.” 

“Enjolras,” He said, shaking his hand. 

“So, Enjolras, pardon my asking, but where did you learn to handle a sword well enough to disarm a pirate captain?” 

Enjolras thought for a moment and decided there was little he could lose by being honest. “In the Navy training yards. I talked some of the officers into letting me learn with the recruits. I took to it well enough that when my father found out he let me keep doing it, since I hadn’t taken to any normal hobbies, he said.” 

“What are normal hobbies for a governor?” 

“Chess, bridge, hunting, collecting horses. I have no talent for games, I cried when he took me hunting, and I was scared of the horses. Would you like some help with those?” Enjolras nodded to the bag of potatoes Bahorel was slowly turning into a basket of peeled potatoes at his side. 

“If you’re offering.” Bahorel said, mildly surprised but pleased, “I think I even have a spare knife.” Enjolras took the knife and a potato and started peeling. His spiral of peel didn’t grow as fast as Bahorel’s, but his hands slowly remembered how to pull the knife edge through the peel. 

“I am curious as to how this fits into the nobleman’s hobbies.” Bahorel nodded toward his hands.

“It doesn’t.” That made Bahorel laugh. “I used to hide in the kitchen when my father was cross with me, and so long as I worked, the cook didn’t give me away.” 

“So far you’re better skilled for piracy than nobility.”

R bounded up onto the deck with simultaneous muscle-aching lethargy and all the enthusiasm of the mid-morning sun. He had a handful of tin cups in one hand and a kettle lazily steaming in the other, and began finding each man or woman on deck to give a cup of tea. 

“Bahorel.” Enjolras said slowly, scraping the last of the peel off another potato.

“Hmm?” 

“R is the captain of the ship.”

“Yes.”

“But last night he told me that you all vote on what to do on the ship, and that you trade off who’s captain.” 

“That’s right.”

“So,” Enjolras paused for a long time trying to put his confusion to words and failing, “so, is he the captain?” 

“Yes,” Bahorel said, laughing, “but I suspect being the captain of this ship means something different than what you’ve learned from stories.” 

“So I’m gathering.” Enjolras had heard plenty of pirate stories from the Navy sailors and from the guests at his father’s house. Everyone he knew had a story about a cousin or an old friend who’s ship was attacked by pirates. They always ransacked the ship or the small port town and left no one alive and no gold untouched. No one could verify any of the information in them, but when the stories were the only source of information about pirates, that stopped mattering quite so much. 

“We all came together on the principle that everyone would have equal equity in the ship.” Bahorel said, “If we all owned equal parts, it made sense that we should make decisions equally, so we do. We put near everything to a vote. But it makes sense sometimes to have a captain. Taking a ship, running into other pirates, they expect us to have a captain, and they take us more seriously if they think we do. In another year, he’ll introduce a vote on who’s to succeed him, and then he’ll just be R again.”

“So he’s got no more power than any of you.” Enjolras said slowly, his mind still working. 

“Nope.” Bahorel said, “Just more responsibility, which was how we figured leadership should work. No extra wages either. Only real material bonus is that he gets his own cabin.”

“Which gets rather lonely at times.” R chimed in, having made his way over to them with the last two cups. 

“I’d offer you milk or sugar,” He said, holding out a cup to Enjolras, “but we don’t have either.”

“I like it plain anyway.” Enjolras said. Actually he liked it with a drowning of milk, but he didn’t want to look like the soft nobleman's son he was. 

“Thanks for bringing round the tea, R,” Bahorel toasted him, “And thanks for taking the first watch last night. You must be exhausted.”

“Less tired than I’ll be if there’s no pies left.” Bahorel laughed and found a pie for him in the bag at his side. 

“We should be in Tortuga before night falls. Would you like to come ashore with us?” R asked Enjolras, “You can see what a real pirate harbor is like.” 

“I would.” Tortuga was infamous for skirting the line between legal municipality and pirate safe haven. His father’s colleagues spoke of it as a gate to hell: what terrible thing couldn’t happen to you in Tortuga, or worse, what if you were _seen_ there? Enjolras had had no idea the depth of the chasm of things he didn’t know, and he wanted nothing so much as to dive in. 

“Is it safe for him to go ashore?” Bahorel asked, taking care to look at Enjolras as he said it, Enjolras realized, so that he might not feel spoken over.

“Nothing’s going to travel faster from the island than us.” R said. “We’ll want to get you a change of clothes though.” Enjolras glanced down at the fine party clothes he was still wearing and had to agree. He wouldn’t fit in, and they felt wretched from having slept in them. 

Enjolras missed the moment Tortuga came into view. It grew closer and closer as the sun set and soon lights were winking alight against the settling dusk. His own clothes were now folded below deck in the trunk of the room, and he wore trousers, boots, and a shirt, all spares Musichetta found stashed in the map room. The boots were the only thing that fit well, and R assured him those were the only things that mattered and couldn’t be fixed with a belt (which Joly lent him). 

Tortuga was smaller than Port Royal, but just as dense with people, and it sprawled in all directions with intersections that seemed to have happened by chance rather than been planned. The first thing that happened when they docked at port and stepped into the streets was a woman punched R in the face. R had scarcely doffed his hat for her and exclaimed, “Irma! Lovely to see—“, when she, without a word, hit him in the jaw hard enough for him to stagger. Eponine nodded hello to the woman and then looked at R without a gram of sympathy as he rubbed his jaw. 

“ _It’ll be fine_ , he said.” Eponine said. “ _Irma probably doesn’t even remember_ , he said. _We were so drunk I could have been anyone_ , he said.” 

“Yes, you were right, you’re very smart, and I’ll listen to you next time.” R muttered.

“No, you won’t.”

“No,” R said, replacing his hat, “I probably won’t.” 

Improbably, church bells rang out the time from somewhere across the town. Enjolras hadn’t thought there would be churches, much less ones that would announce themselves in a town like this. 

“Alright,” R said, and then quite suddenly he wasn’t R who had gotten punched in the face by a woman who, Enjolras suspected, made a very good living charging men for sex: he was R the captain, “Joly and Bahorel, take the money-lender on High street. Bossuet and Musichetta, try the old banker, the one portside. Feuilly, Jehan: find the gang behind the brothel. Eponine, Irma’s probably going back to the madame’s: you and I will go there first and then to the blacksmith if that doesn’t work. It would be unwise for us to stay longer than two hours, so as soon as everyone is done we’re gone.”

The pairs disappeared to the wind down side streets and into crowds, but Eponine stayed, shaking her head. 

“We won’t get anything if you show your face at the madame’s. I’ll go myself.”

“Irma already got one on me. We’re settled now.”

“You want to put that to the test and come back with nothing? That’s what I thought. Stay out of trouble.” With that she disappeared in the same direction Irma had gone. R touched his jaw gently. 

“She got a good shot in, I’ll give her that.” He murmured.

“Why trade the silver?” Enjolras asked.

“What do you mean?” 

“Why try to trade in the silver for coin?” 

“Montparnasse’s terms were specific: the ransom has to be paid in coin and nothing but coin. Said he didn’t want us to give him a trunk full of spoons and candelabras. It’s not a bad idea, in theory, but he only stipulated it to make it harder for us.” 

“So why not take it all to one place?” 

“If we tried to do it in one, anyone in the business would know we’d just taken an island and a half’s worth of nobility for everything they’ve got, and that the Navy will be along at any moment, ready to skin anyone and their mother for information on where we are. And then they won’t do business with us.” R explained. “We have to make it look smaller than it is.”

Enjolras had been wondering for a long time, and maybe now was the time to ask. “R, how short _are_ you for the ransom?”

“Depends on what price we can get for the silver here.” R said. “We’re close, but we don’t have anything to fall back on. The crew’s already put in most of their own savings. If Montparnasse is ass enough to demand it all in coin, he’s probably ass enough to make us stand there while he counts it all. We can’t come in under.”

“Is this common, pirates holding other pirates for ransom?” 

“No.” R said. He seemed unwilling to talk about it further, and he was looking across the square at a narrow side street. “Come on, let’s get a drink.”

R led them into a dingy tavern tucked into an alley. It was dark and, Enjolras suspected, filled with other pirates. Everyone else seemed to keep to themselves, and R found them a corner tucked away from some of the noise, at which a barmaid deposited ale without a word. R toasted her and drank. It was watery while still bread-like and bitter, and Enjolras set his down after a sip. 

“About your question,” R said, “It’s not common, and it’s not done. Normally. Every boat is different, but pirates in general strike a balance between looking out for each other and leaving each other alone. If you cooperate with each other, you can work together, trade goods and information, watch each other’s back. We have enough to worry about with the Royal Navy.”

“What happened this time?” 

“We were trading, our crew and Montparnasse’s. It happened so fast. All of a sudden he had Gavroche, that’s Eponine’s brother, with a gun to his head, and was giving us the terms. No one could believe what was happening for a moment. Gavroche practically grew up on our ship. He’s only fifteen. I should have shot Montparnasse then and there.” 

This was a different R from who he had seen up until then, one who was exhausted. The dim lamplight of the tavern threw shadows under his eyes and lit up the scar on his face. His back was bowed over the table with the weight of chasing the ransom for one of his crew that he blamed himself for losing. 

“The stipulations were this,” R continued, “five hundred silver by the thirteenth of the coming month, or Montparnasse sends him to the bottom of the ocean. We’ve been racing against time ever since. If we don’t keep moving, we won’t make it in time.” 

Enjolras nodded slowly. “That’s why you hit all the houses when you knew they were empty, and when all our finery was out: it wasn’t about the valuables, it was about the money in the safes and studies.”

R nodded and took another drink. 

“And that’s why you need me. Because so long as I’m on your ship, the Royal Navy can’t sink it. And you need to get to Montparnasse. And that’s why you couldn’t just let me go during the party. You couldn’t afford to get caught. But you couldn’t afford to leave the money and escape either.” 

R nodded again. “That you wandered into the library and refused to go back to the party wasn’t part of the plan.” 

“Let me ask something,” Enjolras worked the pirates’ plan over in his head, “would it be more helpful for you to dump me here and hope the Royal Navy doesn’t pursue in revenge, or keep me with you and hope they don’t attack out right for fear of hurting me?” 

R smiled wryly. “That is a riddle I’ve been turning over in my head all night, and the way I see it, it depends on two things. The first is your father. Would the governor pursue us out of revenge if you were returned to him? Or would he come after us regardless of harm to you?” 

“What’s the second thing?” 

“You.”

“Me?” 

R nodded. “You’re a player in this now. If we turn you loose, would you be able to persuade the governor to let us go unharried? And if we kept you on the ship, would you wait until after we ransom Gavroche to return home and not sabotage us for carrying you off?” 

Enjolras thought hard. He was wary of the crew but there was no ill will in his heart toward them. Gavroche was barely younger than him. He wasn’t a pirate, he was a boy. 

What would happen if he went home? If Enjolras couldn’t persuade him to not betrothe him to the duke’s son, how would he persuade him not to track down the pirates who made him look weak in front of his party guests? Would his father command the navy to chase him over the ocean? Would the crew be able to evade them?

“I don’t know.” He said slowly. “I’ve never been in this much trouble before.” 

“Good thing I’m here to get you out.” 

A figure stepped out of the shadows from behind Enjolras and in one swift motion pulled a chair up to their table, sat down, and shook off his hood. Combeferre looked more tired than Enjolras felt, with his hair wild, his clothes severely wrinkled and his eyes bloodshot. He hadn’t slept for at least a day, Enjolras guessed. 

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, my friend, but what are you doing here?” Enjolras asked, “How did you even get here?” 

“Yes, how did you get here _faster than us_?” R asked pointedly.

Enjolras was simultaneously overjoyed and tense with worry. His best friend was a welcome sight, Enjolras felt himself suddenly close to tears like he had felt in the cabin last night, but Combeferre was just as head strong as Enjolras, and that only seldom played in their favor.

“I’d like to interest you in a trade.” Combeferre said, turning fully to face R. “Me in exchange for my friend, Enjolras.” 

“You can’t be serious, Ferre.” Enjolras hissed.

“I can assure you I’d be a much better hostage. I’m currently studying medical science and surgery, so should anyone on your ship fall ill, I would be a great asset. Additionally, I will not be nearly so argumentative as I’m sure my friend has been.” 

“He knows you quite well, doesn’t he?” R said, leaning back in his chair. 

“Combeferre, _stop_.”

“Furthermore,” Combeferre continued, “I can assure you my family is just as well resourced as Enjolras’ and can pay you just as hearty a ransom as you were going to extract from Enjolras’ father, so you would be gaining just as good a ransom from a hostage far more compliant, useful, and quiet.” 

“Combeferre, they’re not holding me for ransom.” 

That got Combeferre’s attention. He paused long enough for Enjolras to look to R for confirmation. If the pirates were going to extort his father, he was fairly certain they would have planned it out right in front of him, as they appeared to do everything else.

“Be that as it may…” Combeferre moved to continue and Enjolras spoke over him.

“Ferre, I volunteered as a hostage.” 

“You _fucking—_ Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Combeferre turned to Enjolras with a look like he might throttle him. “Enjolras _, why_?” 

“Because they’d been found out and if they used me as a hostage, they could get out and no one would get hurt.”

“Except for you.”

“I’m fine!” 

“You’ve been abducted by pirates.”

“They’re not mistreating me, and as far as I can tell, they don’t plan to. And they need to make sure the Navy doesn’t come after them, because they’re in the middle of a rescue mission for one of their crew that’s been kidnapped by other pirates. R, tell him!” 

R shook his head into his ale. “I’m staying out of this.” 

“So? Now they’ve gotten away. Nothing obligates you to help them more than you already have.” Combeferre said, “If they’re not mistreating you, then leave. Come home with me.” 

Enjolras hadn’t thought about leaving. Only now did it occur to him that he probably could. If R tried to stop him...well, he had bested him once, and now he had Combeferre and R was outnumbered. He didn’t think R would stop him though. R’s expression was unreadably dark, what little of it Enjolras could see. He didn’t seem to want to fight.

Enjolras could go home. He could forget a pirate was holding another younger boy hostage, truly this time, and he could marry the duke’s son. Or maybe he could use the relief of his family having him back to persuade them to let him wait to marry a few more years, squeeze out a few more years of what had passed for freedom for so much of his life. He could fence with the Navy, sneak out of the government meetings his father brought him to, hide during the next ball, and the next, pretend this whole thing never happened...

“If there’s any chance my being with them can help them rescue someone, I need to stay.” He said, “I want to stay.”

R looked up at him with an unreadable expression, and Combeferre began to redouble his efforts. Enjolras cut him off. 

“My heart is with you and Courfeyrac, and I will come home to you, I promise, but I cannot return just to watch my life shrink around me.”

“You don’t have any plan for this.” Combeferre said, gently and desperately. “If you come home, you’ll be safe and we can still think of something.”

“Combeferre, you are my dearest friend in the world, and the smartest man I know, but we’ve had years to think, and we’ve come up empty. Now this isn’t a plan, this isn’t a way out for good, but it’s _something_ .” Enjolras could feel his voice tighten and fray. He fisted his hands in the folds of his borrowed pants to stop his hands from shaking. “I can look ahead and know exactly what every day for the rest of my life is going to be like from sun up to sun down, and _I can’t do it_ , Combeferre. Doing this, I can at least help someone else, and maybe, just maybe, I can find some other way out that will last.” 

R’s face was blank and yet soft, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know what. A vein throbbed in Combeferre’s temple in such a way that only happened when he was furious or trying very hard not to cry. The tolling of a bell filtered through the noise of the bar. Combeferre lurched forward and threw his arms around him hard enough to bruise. Enjolras returned his embrace just as tightly.

“Please come back.” Combeferre said into his shoulder. “Please don’t get hurt out where I can’t help you. Promise me.” 

“I promise.” Enjolras said. 

Combeferre let him go slowly and turned to R. “I was lying earlier.” He said, “My family doesn’t have any great wealth or resources. So I can’t bribe or threaten you, I can only ask you:” The vein in his forehead throbbed again and his voice cracked, “Please bring him back alive. He’s my best friend.”

R nodded, and, to Enjolras’ surprise, held out his hand. 

“I promise.” Combeferre clasped his hand in return. 

Combeferre gave Enjolras another crushing hug outside the tavern and left the way he had come, in the opposite direction. R didn’t say anything until they reached the square, for which Enjolras was glad because his voice wouldn’t have been steady. 

“I wouldn’t have stopped you, you know.” R said softly. “It’s true, we can use all the help we can get to keep the Navy off us until we’ve got Gavroche again, but...well, I wouldn’t have had the heart to stop you then. I still won’t stop you now. You could catch up to him.” 

“I thought about that.” Enjolras said, “I’m going to stay.” 

After a moment, R spoke again. “If I may ask, is it the duke’s son, or marriage in general you’re running from?” 

“I’m not running from anything, not really,” Enjolras said, “Just buying some time to figure out how to run away better.” R nodded for him to continue. “I’ve had a little bit of freedom in my life up until now, and I’m going to lose it once I get married.” Enjolras said, “I’ll become a spouse of someone...advantageous to my family. I’ll have to follow my husband into politics and governing and trading, but only to watch. I’ll have to host parties and visiting dignitaries, and make small conversation with dozens of people, and dance with the people who make laws and trade policies, but I won’t be able to touch any of it.” 

“How can they expect you to be in the world without participating in it?” 

“It’s not about who you are, it’s about the role you have. And my role will be of a husband. I’ll never be able to touch a sword again, or go into town on my own, or go anywhere on my own really. Everyone has been trying to make me cultivate civilized hobbies like chess and bridge, and I’ve been ignoring it because I can. Once I’m married, I won’t be able to ignore it anymore.”

“Who’s going to make you?” 

“No one can tie me to the chess table and make me play, but I still don’t want to live a life I know I’ll find miserable. Even if I wanted to live as I please in marriage, I wouldn’t have the support of my husband. The duke’s son has made it very clear he looks forward to me...settling down in wedded life. He thinks any kind of fighting, with swords or otherwise, is barbaric.”

“He sounds boring as shit.” 

Enjolras laughed in a way that almost became crying. 

They got back to the center of the square at the same time Eponine did, coins clinking in her pockets. She, however, was the only one who had done well. 

“Someone must have come through before us, because they’re not interested. We were lucky to get half what the silver was worth.” Joly reported. The rest nodded and Eponine’s face darkened into something like despair. They were still short. 

“On to the back up plan then, and back to the ship.” R declared. As they made for the boats, Enjolras heard Eponine hiss to R, “What back up plan?” 

“The one I thought of last night.” R replied, “You’re not going to like it.” 

Eponine hated it. R called a vote to order on the deck of the ship as they sailed away, sketching out a map on the deck in chalk and outlining each of their possible routes with each potential pitfall. Enjolras could see them shake their heads or grimace at the first route and how it was already overrun with Navy ships. A few looked even less pleased at the second route through Babet’s patch of sea. No one seemed happy that the last route took them through Thenardier’s territory. 

“Obviously we will vote on which path to take, but,” R stooped and drew an arrow toward the third route, “I would like to suggest this option.” 

“Why taunt Thenardier?” Musichetta asked.

“Because we’re short.” Joly answered before R could open his mouth. “And we need a loan.” Groans went up around the deck. 

“How short are we?” Jehan asked. 

“A hundred, roughly.” 

“Well, fuck.” Bossuet muttered. 

“Are we sure he’ll loan it to us?” Feuilly asked. 

“He will if he thinks about what kind of interest he can charge on it.” Eponine said. “And I think I can persuade him. Gavroche is technically his son, after all.” 

“Can we commence voting?” R asked, turning to everyone spread across the deck. 

“Ordinarily I’d ask how we ever plan on paying the loan plus interest back, but….” Feuilly shrugged, “what choice do we have?” 

“I motion that we take the third route and commission Thenardier for a loan.” Bahorel said. 

“I second.” Eponine said. 

“All those in favor?” A chorus of assent rose grimly. Enjolras added his voice to the mix.

They had finally eaten through Bossuet’s stolen pies, so dinner was a stew with potatoes and onions. As he finished, Enjolras felt a nudge under his knee and a moment later the orange cat came out to properly rub her ears against his leg. 

“There she is!” Jehan said, “Forget what we told you about our voting and democratic processes. This is our true captain.” 

“If only that wasn’t true.” R said ruefully. “Yours is the only vote that matters, Marie.” The cat meowed at him and Enjolras obligingly reached down to scratch under her ears. 

“Do all pirate ships have cats?” Enjolras asked.

“The smart ones do.” Jehan said. “Marie keeps rats and mice off the ship better than we could ourselves.” Marie purred into Enjolras’ hand as he continued to pet her. 

“Speaking of,” Joly added, “I found her sleeping on a spare set of clothes this morning, so you’ll have more than one day of clothes.” 

“It might seem small now, but you’ll be glad for the change.” Musichetta assured him. “We keep things as clean as we can, but it’s not easy when you’re out at sea for weeks on end. And it’ll take us nearly three to get to the island.” 

Three weeks, Enjolras thought. That was nearly a month. The journey to Thenardier, to Montparnasse’s secret island, to ransoming Eponine’s brother would take nearly a _month_. And then there would be the journey back. He wouldn’t be home, wouldn’t see anyone he knew or sleep in his own bed or wear his own clothes for six weeks. He didn’t feel any sadness, he found, apart from the pull of Combeferre and Courfeyrac. The vastness, the unknown-ness of the coming months swelled up in front of him in all their novelty and danger, and Enjolras felt...at once scared, and glad to be scared. 

“It’s a long journey, much longer than we normally take on. If you were going to get mixed up with us, we’re sorry it’s for this one.” Joly offered. 

“Will you have ever been away from home this long?” Musichetta asked gently. 

Enjolras thought of the trips his parents had sent him on to see family, or to see the continent. Those trips had lasted months, yes, and he had been alone, yes, but between the chaperones and tutors and cases of luggage, he hadn’t been alone for a moment. 

“No,” he said, “not this long.” 

The crew shared a look in little glances Enjolras didn’t think he was supposed to see. R looked resolutely down into his stew. 

“It wasn’t supposed to go this way,” Joly started. 

“I volunteered.” Enjolras said. “I didn’t know it was going to last longer than the night, but I’m not upset. I got you out of my father’s house, but you all got me out of a bad situation too. So I’ll keep volunteering. I don’t know anything about ships or sailing or piracy, but...I’ll learn. I’d like to learn.” 

Silence stretched out and everyone seemed rather surprised. He thought he saw a small smile creep onto R’s face.

“Well,” Eponine said and stood up, “you’ll need one of these.” She tossed something in a leather case through the air to him and only when he caught it did Enjolras realize it was a knife, as long as his hand and sheathed tightly. 

“Maybe we can find you a spare pistol too.” Eponine added with a grin. 

They set course that night, with Bahorel and Feuilly taking the night shift. When he woke up, Enjolras helped Bahorel prepare the first meal before he turned in for the day. As the sun rose high in the sky, Joly and Bossuet retreated to a shady spot on the deck and guided him through a set of knots and their uses. In the afternoon, he followed them through their deck duties and helped where he could. 

Some things were explained clearly, like how they all shared responsibilities, but Jehan was particularly good up the mast with the sails and Feuilly had a talent for catching things right before they broke and finding a way to keep them going. Eponine was an expert navigator and knew the seas better than anyone, but R knew people and had talked them in, out, and through most everything they’d run up against. 

Other things he picked up without being told, like how Musichetta appeared to be with both Joly _and_ Bossuet, and they appeared to be just fine with that, even happy about it. Eponine had lived most of her life in piracy, which made sense if Thenardier was her father. From the way they talked about it, all of them had come from a time or a place they didn’t fit in, and saw the ship as the happiest they’d ever been. 

Meals were taken together. The midday meal was quicker, depending on what still had to be done, but the evening meal was a time for them. The ship, to Enjolras’ surprise, had an extensive collection of books, and someone or several people would read to the rest of the crew after dinner, or Jehan would get his mandolin and play for them. R had a lovely reading voice, knowing the right times to pause and the cadence of a line. If Enjolras recognized a few of the books as ones from his father’s library, he didn’t say anything. They would be read and enjoyed more on the ship anyway. 

The days found a rhythm that way: waking up with the dawn, seeing to the ship's needs, cleaning, rigging, or emptying the box of sand that Marie used for her ablutions. They worked in the mornings and evenings to avoid the hottest part of the day. Even so, Enjolras watched his skin begin to turn pink and brown. His muscles began to ache with the new work too. He slept better in a hammock than he ever had in a bed, and the sun was brighter and the air cleaner in his lungs in the mornings. 

On his seventh day on the ship, the wind that had given them good speed up till then softened, and Jehan taught him how to climb the rigging. Enjolras learned how the sails were rigged, clutching the ropes, following Jehan as he pointed between ropes and the white cloud of the sail. Even though his knees were weak from the height, Enjolras could feel the wind in his hair and hear the sound of the sail rippling and see out across the sea to the edge of the world. The tight clutch in his chest felt like falling in love. 

“Will it be a problem that the wind has died down?” He asked as they descended. 

“It’s lucky that it did. We’ll be in Thenardier’s seas by tomorrow, and it won’t do to speed through without finding him.” Jehan said, who climbed without looking. 

“Show me your hands.” Jehan said when they were back on the deck. He held his out too for Enjolras to see. The length of time Jehan had been on the ship compared to Enjolras’ scant week was written on their palms. Enjolras’ hands had acquired a thousand knicks and blisters, with one fresh spot at the base of his index finger announcing it was about to become a new spot of pain. 

Jehan tsked empathetically. “That’s a rite of passage even more than learning to shoot. There’s a salve that lessens the pain a bit. I think R’s got some. Ask him about it tonight.” 

Enjolras did as they finished supper, and R quickly retrieved a small tin from his quarters. He came back as Joly and Bossuet were about to start with Musichetta, the night’s reading was selections from Twelfth Night, and sat down next to Enjolras. 

“It smells a bit strong, but you’ll only need a little.” He whispered, passing the tin to Enjolras.

“Thank you.” Enjolras said quietly and levered the lid off the tin. It smelled strongly but not unpleasantly of mint and something that reminded him of gin. For a moment he juggled the tin and the lid, trying to find a way to hold the tin and put its contents on his hands at the same time. R saw his dilemma. 

“Here,” R took the tin back, “I can help.” 

“Oh. Thank you.” 

The scene started up in earnest, and Enjolras remembered vaguely a production his mother had taken him to as a boy. His young mind hadn’t grasped most of the nuance, but he had loved it still. R took Enjolras’ right hand in his left, and with the tin balanced on his knee and half an eye on his friends, he applied a thin layer of the salve to the troubled parts of Enjolras’ palm. 

R’s hands were large and surprisingly gentle. There were calluses on his palms and fingers as well as all matter of small scars across the backs of his hands, all of which Enjolras better understood now after a few days on the ship. R smoothed the salve up from his palm and over the red, irritated skin on his fingers so gently that Enjolras barely felt the sting of the salve as it settled into his skin. R smiled at something Bossuet’s character said, and turned his attention to Enjolras’ other hand.

The pirates’ theatre helped distract from the sting of the salve. They had performed this before, it was clear how comfortable they were with the lines. In the back of his mind, Enjolras remembered a Navy captain who once said that pirates were an illiterate and stupid lot. He had gotten in trouble then for pointing out to the captain that pirates couldn’t be all that stupid if they kept evading the Navy so successfully. These pirates particularly were more well-read, had a better grasp of the material, than most of the people he knew in the noble social circles of his home. 

At the end, Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta bowed humbly to the great applause from their friends. They were tense since they’d come into Thenardier’s territory. A distraction, even for a night, had been welcome.

The next morning while Enjolras was at the bow with Musichetta, Jehan let out a high, clear whistle from the crow’s nest. 

“Dead ahead!” He called out from above them, “It’s him!” 

R and Eponine came up next to them to look. Eponine pulled a telescope out of her belt. 

“It’s him.” She confirmed, handing the telescope to R, who looked through it and passed it to Enjolras. It took him a moment, but eventually the hazy spot on the horizon materialized into a ship with dirty grey sails and a flag with a skull and crossbones. Not dissimilar to the one their own ship flew. The pirates flew into action, and Enjolras with them, to load pistols, move barrels and spare rope and nets below deck. The ships drew closer, and Enjolras realized the other ship was anchored. It was waiting. 

“R and I will do the talking.” Eponine said. They had all gathered where R was at the helm, guiding them to the ship. They were close enough now that Enjolras could see men on the deck, moving around, watching them approach. “Feuilly and Musichetta, you stay on the ship and be ready to take us out at any moment. Everyone else good to come over?” 

“Me as well?” Enjolras asked.

“You as well. You already showed you’re handy in a fight when you bested the captain.” 

“Speaking of which.” R had joined them from below deck, and he tossed a knife, sheathed to Enjolras. It was more than twice, maybe three times, the size of the knife currently on his belt. This one wasn’t for peeling potatoes and cutting rope. Enjolras thanked him and hung it at his hip next to the smaller knife where the muscle memory in his hand was already growing familiar.

“Expect there’ll be a fight?” Bahorel asked.

“Less chance of that with a group.” Eponine nodded to their circle. “And there’s no reason to let him know we’re sailing around with enough silver for a duchess’ dowry, so our story is this: the ransom is two hundred silver, we’ve made about a hundred, and we need a loan of a hundred fifty more, with the fifty being insurance.”

The ships were close enough now for Enjolras to see the gaps left by missing teeth in the mouth of a man on the helm. At R’s call, Enjolras and the others lowered the sail, while Feuilly and Bossuet manned the anchor. Alongside each other, Thenardier’s ship and crew had clearly been at sea longer, from the weathered boards to the tanned, sunburnt skin of the men. 

A man came to stand across from them on the other ship. He wore trousers and a coat with no shirt underneath, and several pistols holstered on his belt. When he smiled, six of his teeth glinted with gold. 

“What business do you have with the captain?” He asked, “Or has the princess decided to come home?” 

“We’re here to speak to the captain, Gueulemer, not you.” Eponine had relaxed the severe posture she had stood at before, as well as the steel in her voice. Enjolras wondered how well she knew the men, and whether that made her more comfortable or less. 

Planks were lifted and set across the railings of the ships from their side to Thenardier’s. Although the planks were wider and longer than they strictly needed to be, and held by the steady hands of the crew, his crew, Enjolras’ heart dropped into his stomach in the few steps it took him to cross. 

Thenardier was unmistakable. His coat had once been yellow, and was now covered in so many brooches and pieces of silver and gold as to make the fading nearly unnoticeable. He sat in a chair of carved wood under the mast with his men arrayed around him. It was slight, but they were outnumbered. 

“Eponine, my dear, how are you?” His voice was rough and honeyed at the same time. 

“Not good.” Eponine stood next to R, the rest of the crew flanked around them, “Montparnasse has kidnapped Gavroche. We’re on our way to ransom him.”

Something flickered across the old man’s face too fast for Enjolras to tell if it was fear or sadness. “So you’re not here to finally come home? To take your place in your father’s crew?” 

“I’m here to rescue my brother.”

“We’ve had some bad luck, and we’re short on the ransom.” R explained, “We’d like to ask for a loan of a hundred and fifty silver.”

Thenardier stroked his short beard for a moment and looked between R and Eponine.

“You’ve had some bad luck.” He said slowly. “Bad planning, more like. Why is it my obligation to fill the gaps of your mistakes? Seems to me like you should lie in the bed you’ve made.” 

Their crew stiffened, like a ripple going through a still pond, and for a moment Enjolras thought Eponine might draw her pistol and shoot him point blank. She looked like she would, and R was looking to her, starting to begin an explanation of how soon they would pay him back. 

Over R’s speech, Eponine took a breath and stepped forward away from their little crowd. She moved slowly with her hands open at her sides to show she had no weapon drawn, and knelt next to Thenardier’s chair. 

“Father,” She put one hand on his forearm as she said it, “I need your help. Your _son_ needs your help. Help me rescue him. We’ll pay you back in full, with interest, you know we will. I’ve left, I know, but all’s not lost for Gavroche. He could return to you still. Please.” 

Sadness did come over Thenardier’s face then, sadness and affection. He patted Eponine’s hand, and then motioned to Gueulemer, who scurried below deck. 

“You can take a loan of one hundred, or two, but not one hundred fifty.” He said. Eponine nodded and rose to step back closer to the crew. “It’s my advice, as your father and as a business associate of Montparnasse, that you take the loan for two hundred, and give him the extra as a show of goodwill.”

“Two hundred then.” 

Gueulemer reappeared from below deck with a sheaf of papers, all waxed against moisture. 

“Where are you meeting him for the ransom?” Thenardier asked, thumbing through the papers. 

“The Seven Sisters.” 

“You’re in luck then.” He said, pulling out a single page and holding it out to Eponine. “This one is right on your way.”

While Eponine masked her expression and studied the paper, a look of horror was creeping onto R’s face. Enjolras had expected a chest or a sack of coin to be produced, and from the faces on the rest of the crew, they had expected that as well. 

“Is this some kind of a joke?” Eponine asked woodenly. 

“It’s a map, my dear. A map to two hundred silver on an island you’ll already be passing on your way to the Sisters. You’ll barely lose any time at all.” 

“We came here in good faith,” R seethed, but Thenardier cut him off. 

“You came here because you were desperate.” He said sharply. “I don’t keep my fortune on my ship for the same reason you lied about how much Montparnasse demanded. What does he want? Three hundred? Five hundred? A thousand? Lie to anyone, but not to _me_.” 

“Suppose we get there and it’s not there.” Eponine said. The corner of the map was crumpled where she held it. 

“It’s there.” 

“Suppose it’s not.”

“Then you’ll only owe me the interest.” Thenardier said, with a shrug, as if he were being incredibly magnanimous. “Which is ten percent, increasing two percent by every month, by the way. That’s a family rate.” 

Eponine was trembling as she rolled the map and tucked it into her belt. “If someone else found it first, if it’s short, if this goes wrong in any way, you’ll have more than interest to worry about.” 

“Are you threatening me? On my own ship?” 

“Not yet.” With that, Eponine turned and went back to the boards connecting their ships. They crossed quickly, Thenardier calling good luck to them not entirely sincerely. The sails were raised and the anchor hauled in, and their ship pulled away from Thenardier’s as fast as it could go.


	3. Chapter 3

Good friends will consider your friends as their friends. Real friends though will hold your enemies as their enemies. As Thenardier’s ship disappeared behind them, Eponine’s rage was matched only by that of every other member of the crew. 

That Thenardier’s loan was scattered somewhere under the sand on a distant beach, made a kind of sense that just barely outweighed how inconvenient it was. What made Eponine’s knuckles white on the wheel of the ship, and what made the crew move without the usual hum of song and conversation, was Thenardier’s indifference to Gavroche. Enjolras tried to imagine what had to happen to a man, what he had to be forced to do and ilve through, to make him shrug at helping one of his children, and he came up empty. 

By dinner his resolve in their mission had strengthened, but Eponine’s rage had turned to despair. Her food sat untouched between her boots, and she held her head in her hands.

“What if it’s not there?” She wondered, her eyes staring off into space. “What if someone else found it first? Of all the things to lose Gav to, it can’t be that we’re short a measly hundred silver, can it?” 

“It will be there.” Musichetta said, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

“And if it isn’t, we’ll figure it out.” Bossuet added. 

“He was right about it being on our way, at least.” Feuilly said. He and R were comparing Thenardier’s map to the one R had drawn out on the deck in chalk. “We won’t lose much time adding the stop.”

Next to Eponine, Enjolras poked at his stew. She had a dead look in her eyes, like she couldn’t hear what her friends were saying, and he was furious for her. 

“Let’s say the money isn’t there,” He said quietly to Eponine. She blinked and looked at him, a little sideways from where she slumped over. “Let’s say it’s gone, and we’re still short, and we don’t figure out anything else. Then we’ll sail back and help you sink Thenardier’s ship with him on it.” 

Eponine blinked again, and for a moment Enjolras wasn’t sure how she would react. He had only been on the ship a little over a week. Then she let out a dry laugh, a single rough exhale, and picked up her food. “ _ There’s _ a plan.” 

Sitting around the chalk map, the crew hashed out the modifications to the route. It would add a day to their journey, maybe more depending on how long it took them to find the loan. The island was one they had seen before but no one had landed at, not even Eponine and Feuilly. 

“You know, I’m not positive, but I don’t think they buried the loan.” Feuilly said. 

“What makes you say that?” Joly asked. 

Feuilly passed Thenardier’s map over to Eponine. “Ep, give me your take first.”

Eponine put down her empty bowl and studied the map. Enjolras looked over her shoulder. One section of the map showed the sea surrounding the island, and how they got to it from Thenardier’s territory. Then the drawings drew in closer on the island and it’s topography to show where the loan was located with a red cross. After a moment Eponine started nodding. “Feuilly’s right. I don’t think it’s been buried.” She said. 

“Look, here.” Eponine held up the map so everyone could see. “The ‘x’ where the loan is - it’s just here where this side of the island begins to form into cliffs. And if there’s cliffs, then the ground won’t be sand or soil there, it’ll be rock. My guess is the ‘x’ is a cave and the loan is inside.”

“Well, that solves the problem of our not having any shovels.” Bahorel said. 

“So pirates don’t bury their treasure?” Enjolras asked idly.

“I don’t know anyone who has.” Joly shrugged, “But I don’t know anyone with any treasure either.”

“We could always go back to the marquis’ island when this is over and get some. Visit those nobles’ houses again.” Bossuet said absently. “Although I still think the house with the rose garden was abandoned. It was too empty.”

“That must have been Fitzwilliams’ house.” Enjolras found himself saying. “Thomas likes gardening, but he has a gambling problem.” 

“What about the house with all the tiny dogs?” Bahorel asked. 

“That’s the Grey’s house. How did you keep the dogs from barking? They bark even when the Grey’s friends come to visit.”

“Jehan’s got a way with animals. He played with them while I went through the safe.” Bahorel nodded to where Jehan sat with his forearms on his knees, Marie curled snugly over his shoulders. 

The night of his birthday party sat idly in the back of his mind. In his hammock at night, Enjolras wandered over his home island in his mind, looking at the houses of the titled aristocracy and the untitled but just as rich merchants. Some only had a butler or a maid, waiting up for the owner of the house to return, but several of them had gates, or guards, or both. Enjolras began going through the night of his birthday again, but this time from outside his house. He walked over the streets and behind houses in his mind as he practiced knots before bed and in the morning as he cleaned the deck with Bahorel and Feuilly. 

It became a game. In the afternoon, he sat with Bossuet and Joly to hide out the hottest hours of the day in the shade, and he guessed which houses they had hit and how they had entered. 

“The Smith’s house. It has white columns and a fountain in the front yard with a statue of a Greek youth.” 

“Got that one.” Joly confirmed. 

The high wall encircled the property, but the stones were rough and uneven, which made scaling it easy, especially when Enjolras was younger and wanted fruit from the trees in the garden. “By climbing the wall?”

“Climbing the wall  _ and _ picking the lock on the back door.” Bossuet said. 

“And the house next to it, it’s yellow with a wrought iron gate. That one too?”

“That one too.” Bossuet said. 

“Did you go over the gate?” 

“We thought about it, but no.” Joly laughed. “Part of the rear gate was already damaged, and we figured they wouldn’t mind overly much if we simply damaged it a bit more.”

“Speaking of which, there’s a gate to the side of your house,” Eponine had come over to share their spot in the shade and caught Joly’s comment. “You might want to tell your father when you get back that it doesn’t lock properly.” 

“I’ll pass it on.” Enjolras laughed.

“Strictly speaking, there’s a number of locks on your property that won’t stop determined individuals.” Bossuet said. 

“Don’t let that scare you.” Joly added, “We happened to be those very determined individuals. Your locks really didn’t stand a chance.” 

“How did you know which houses to go to, and how to get past the locks?” Enjolras had been wondering for a while. Their plan  _ could _ have been improvised, but that didn’t match up with the dedication and care the crew had put into every other part of their plan.

“A lot of it was guess work.” Eponine admitted. She had sat down with her back to the wall of the railing and was fanning herself with her hat lazily. “No way of knowing how much each house would yield, so we made a route we hoped would cover the ones that came up short.”

“How did you make the route? There was a warning from the Navy the day before that pirates had been spotted, so you couldn’t have planned that far ahead.” Enjolras wondered aloud. “But if that was you, did you make the whole plan in twenty-four hours?” 

Eponine shook her head. “We took one planning trip a week before: borrowed a fishing boat in Tortuga and R and Feuilly spent a day walking the streets, making sure all the nobles and rich families still lived where R remembered.” 

“What do you mean, ‘where he remembered’?” 

“R used to live there.” Eponine said casually. “Grew up on the island most of his life until he became a pirate.” 

“Eponine!” R called from the helm. Bossuet gave Eponine a hand standing up, and she bounded off to where R stood at the ship’s wheel looking through a spyglass. Joly gently corrected a knot Enjolras was practicing. He’d gotten the passes wrong as his mind drifted to R. 

Port Royal was larger than any of the other colonies. It wasn’t impossible, or even improbable, that he and R had grown up on the same island. He didn’t know how old R was, but they didn’t seem very far off in age. Enjolras tried to remember the children he used to snuck out to play with, far from the walls of the governor’s house, but it was impossible to estimate how any of the murky faces in his memory would look all grown up. 

Eponine whistled from the helm and called out over the ship, “Island’s in sight!”

Joly, Bossuet, and Enjolras flew to the railing to look. Up in the sails, Jehan, Feuilly, and Musichetta paused in their work. Sure enough, far out in front of them were the grey cliffs of a tiny island. As they watched it grow ever closer, Enjolras felt Joly stiffen beside him. 

“What is it?” He asked. Joly pointed toward one side of the island where the cliffs gave way to a beach. Enjolras squinted and then, after a moment, saw it too: anchored just off the beach was another ship. He looked to the helm and saw Eponine’s expression turn cloudy behind her spyglass. She was too far away to hear, but Enjolras saw her mutter a word: pirates.

The crew met on the deck under the helm to make a plan. “It’s another crew.” Eponine said, “They’re running a pirate flag, but not one we know.” 

“I’m guessing we should prepare for a fight?” Bahorel asked. 

“If they’ve already found the loan, we have to take it from them. If they haven’t, we have to find it and get out without them taking it from us.” 

“So a fight when we come ashore, or a fight when we leave?” 

“I wouldn’t rule out both.” 

“Eponine, you’ve got the map, right?” R asked, and Eponine patted her chest where it was tucked into her shirt. “How clear is it about where exactly the loan is hidden? How long do you think it would take us to find it?” 

Eponine bit her lip and looked out at the ocean for a moment. “I don’t know.” She said after a moment. “The map seems clear, and Thenardier values precision over everything with his money, but the bottom line is we won’t know how it matches up to the terrain until our boots are on the sand.”

“We don’t know for sure if they’ve come for the loan.” Feuilly pointed out. “Why would Thenardier have sent two crews for the same loan?”

“Why else would they be here?” Jehan asked.

Feuilly shrugged. “Maybe the island has fresh water. Maybe they’re hiding loot of their own.” 

“If it’s the latter, they won’t be pleased we’ve seen them.” 

“I don’t think they’re stashing their own goods.” Musichetta was taking a turn looking through the spyglass now. “Their ship’s seen far better days. If they had treasure, they wouldn’t be hiding it, they’d be spending it on repairs. Or that’s what I would do.”

“They don’t know why we’re here either.” Enjolras said. Everyone looked at him, and he took a breath and continued. “On the one hand, we don’t know why they’ve come to this island, but on the other hand, they don’t know why we’re here either. For all they know, we could just be restocking fresh water.” 

R looked to Eponine, who shrugged. “Easier than going in, guns blazing.”

It was decided. Jehan raised the white flag and R returned to the helm to guide them in toward the island. As they drew closer, Enjolras could see what Musichetta meant about their ship needing repairs: the boards looked about to crack from sun and age, a few spots were discolored from more recent repairs, and the creaks and groans sang over the water even as the ship did nothing but sit at anchor, bobbing a little in the waves. 

There were two men on the beach watching them as they let down anchor a little distance from the other ship. When R went to the railing and raised his arm in greeting, one of the men raised a hand back. Then, still facing their ship, the man on the beach took a pistol out from under his coat, held it up in the air, and tossed it onto the sand. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Enjolras asked. The man bent down to retrieve the gun and tucked it back into its holster. 

“They accept our white flag. When he threw his gun down, that means he won’t prevent us from coming ashore.” R said. “Of course, it also lets us know they’re armed.” 

R, Eponine, Bahorel, and Enjolras went ashore, reasoning that fewer numbers would seem less suspicious. As they pulled the little rowboat onto the sand, the two pirates carefully approached their party. Upon closer inspection, the man who had waved to them seemed to be the captain from the way his companion stayed just behind him. His boots too, Enjolras noticed, were fine leather, not yet faded, and he guessed only the captain would have new boots on a ship about to fall apart. 

R straightened up from their boat and strode forward with a grin and a tip of his hat. R was different when he was playing the captain. Onboard, everyone was a crew member. More often than not, R was in the background of Eponine’s fierce gaze, or Bahorel’s booming voice announcing supper was ready, or Feuilly’s hands running over a piece of the ship, diagnosing a problem that hadn’t yet happened. Onboard, R could be found doing some necessary, tedious task, or calling a meeting to order and then listening to everyone else talk. In front of other pirates, though, his back uncurled from its slouch, his shoulders broadened out, and a magnetic pole inside him seemed to switch on. He wasn’t just playing the captain: he was all of a sudden becoming the captain. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know if there are any springs on this godforsaken rock?” R asked affably, “We’re low on fresh water and when I saw your shop docked, I hoped you might know something I don’t.” 

The other captain took his offered hand and nodded cautiously, suspicious but still won over. Neither man was going to give the other their name, Enjolras realized. The pirate captain with the new boots and his lackey were just as uncomfortable sharing the beach as they were, and maybe holding back their names made everyone feel a little more in control. 

“There’s two springs that we know of.” The captain said, nodding, “Their streams converge to form a creek that trickles down to the beach, just through those trees.” He pointed behind them toward a thin forest, behind which cliffs began to rise. “My crew is gathering our water as we speak.” 

R nodded and gave the man an appraising look. “And how would you feel if we gathered water there as well?”

The captain made an expression that might have been a smile. “I’ve got no trouble, but my crew tends to shoot without asking questions.” He shrugged. “We might be able to share though. When you find the creek at the trees, if you follow it up toward the cliffs long enough it forks: follow the left branch up a ways and you’ll find one of the springs.” 

“And so long as we stay clear of the right branch, we won’t bother your crew?” R asked. 

The captain shrugged. “Should be just fine.” 

R tipped his hat again with a smile. “Many thanks, captain. Alright, you lot,” he said, turning toward the three of them, “We find the spring first, let’s go.” The captain watched them hike up the beach toward the trees. Enjolras could feel his gaze on their backs. 

“Out of curiosity, how is our water supply?” R asked Bahorel in a low voice.

“Just fine. We’ve got a water stop scheduled at Floreal’s port.” 

“Excellent.” 

“You know, it looks a bit suspicious,  _ Captain _ ,” Eponine hissed at R, “When you join your crew in the grunt work instead of doing fuck all like your new friend back there.”

“And let you have all the fun without me?”

Sure enough there was a creek, barely small enough to grow moss, trickling down from the cliffs and under the trees. They followed it into the forest and their path began to creep uphill. Bahorel unsheathed a machete and led the way, hacking away at the undergrowth that hampered their progress. Eponine followed with one eye on their surroundings and the other on the map. Then came Enjolras, and R brought up the rear. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Enjolras said to R over his shoulder, “but why choose me to come along on the reconnaissance?” 

“Because you’re so pretty and I want to look at you all the time.” 

“Because,” Eponine interjected, “you’re handy in a fight, but you still look like the greenhorn.” 

Enjolras turned back to R, who shrugged. “Bahorel cuts an imposing figure, and I like to think I look a little dangerous, but I am hoping their captain saw I was taking a woman and a boy who’s barely got his sea legs, and so won’t think too much about what ulterior motives we might have.”

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or impressed with your planning.” Enjolras said.

“Seeing as that’s the extent of my planning, I wouldn’t be too impressed.” 

Enjolras wondered briefly if they were heading into danger, and found the answer to be: probably. It didn’t scare him as much as he thought it might have. When they reached the fork in the creek, they paused while Eponine looked again at the map. Enjolras could see the higher cliffs rising up through the trees. The ground around them had enough dirt for the brush and moss, but under that few inches of earth was rock. He could see it now from the cliffs around them, their steadily inclining hike, and the boulders resting amid the trees whose roots had somehow burrowed into the rock. It would have been impossible to bury anything.

“Are we close to the loan?” Bahorel asked.

Eponine nodded slowly, “I think if we follow the right branch of the creek, just beyond the spring there should be a clearing and maybe a cave. It’s somewhere there. ” 

“Where the other crew is supposedly gathering water? Fantastic.” 

“What would you say the odds are that they’re here for the loan as well?” R asked.

“Higher than I would have said an hour ago.” Eponine said, and tucked the map back into her shirt. “How can we get to the loan without being seen?”

“I have a very stupid idea.” R said. When he told them the idea, Eponine laughed so hard she snorted. 

“You’re right. That is stupid.” 

“And dangerous. And nowhere near guaranteed to work.” Bahorel said. 

“And this isn’t the biggest flaw, but I don’t think you appreciate the fact that I’d never been in a fight before my birthday.” Enjolras said. 

R’s plan was to send two of their party up the creek to one side of the clearing and create a commotion to distract the pirates. Meanwhile, the other two would sneak around to the other side and weasel the loan out from under them. It included such risk factors as not knowing how many other pirates were there, not knowing if they had found the loan yet or not, not knowing how easy it would be to find the loan, and, most present in his own mind, not knowing how much help Enjolras would actually be in a fight with an unknown number of other men. 

“I’m all ears to all the other fantastic plans you lot have.” R said with a shrug. 

“Fuck it all.” Eponine muttered. “Let’s do it.”

“Alright, when we get within earshot, you all sneak around above their party and I’ll circle around to the opposite side and draw their attention.”

“No,” Eponine cut him off, “You and the little prince will sneak around above the party,  _ I’ll  _ circle around, and Bahorel, you’ll stay out of sight and cover my back.” 

“I came up with it, it’s only fair  _ I _ take the danger.” R said firmly. 

“Maybe it’s fair, but our odds are far better if I cause the commotion.” Eponine said just as firmly. 

“And why’s that?” 

“Because they’re probably men, and you’re also a man.” She said, and started to undo her braid so her hair fell down her shoulders. “You’ll be clocked as a threat as soon as you’re seen.”

“You’re not a threat?” 

“I’m an object of curiosity.” 

“Curiosity and desire.” Enjolras said nodding. Eponine winked at him. 

“Eponine, I’ll stick close behind you.” Bahorel said. 

R threw up his hands. “Have I no authority as captain?” 

“Not really, no.” Eponine grinned and handed Enjolras the map, “Keep him out of trouble.” With that she and Bahorel disappeared into the trees and brush. 

“Would it make you feel like a better pirate captain if I told you I was properly scared of you the night of my party?” Enjolras asked idly while he studied the map. 

“You were?” Enjolras nodded. They started off into the brush and R looked no more pleased than he had before Enjolras spoke. 

“Are you still scared of me?” R asked again as they walked. 

“I haven’t been scared of you since my aunt pushed us to dance.” Enjolras said. 

R snorted. “That was a very short margin of terror then. What was that, ten minutes?”

“More like five.”

“Well, I’m glad.” R said more quietly, “Of all the things I’ve wanted to be, feared was never one of them.” 

“I think I recognized you.” R looked over his shoulder at him with an unreadable look. Thinking back now, Enjolras couldn’t put into words the certainty he’d felt. “Not exactly, I mean: something in me recognized something in you. I knew you were dangerous, but I don’t think I believed you would hurt me.” 

“I wouldn’t have.” R said, “I would never.” 

“I knew. I know.” 

“Kissing dangerous men would have been a strange reaction to fear, I suppose.” R said with a grin.

Enjolras felt his face turn hot. “I was desperate. I was about to be betrothed to an idiot.” 

R turned around and Enjolras had to stop quickly to keep them from colliding. “Would you have the same response now if I said you were still in danger of being betrothed to an idiot?” 

“Why are you like this?” 

“Because you’re pretty when you blush.”

Enjolras slapped the map against R’s chest and pushed past him. “Make sure we’re going the right way.” He could feel R’s soft laughter through his hand.

They hiked in silence and Enjolras slowly felt the heat drain from his face. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed at having kissed R at the party, so much as it was that he kept thinking about it. It didn’t have anything to do with R directly, he was certain. He was fairly certain. He just hadn’t kissed all that many people, and R happened to have been the best and most recent. It was nothing more than that. 

The murmur of mens’ voices drifted down from up the incline. There was a clearing above them, Eponine was right, where the other pirates must be gathered. The two of them froze, listening. When R crouched down into the undergrowth, Enjolras followed suit, and they continued at a crawl. In a few yards they paused again and R motioned for them to change direction. A yard more and Enjolras saw R’s plan: the clearing was beginning to come into view, and there was a boulder on the edge of it just large enough for the both of them to hide behind. 

The men in the clearing were arguing, loudly and angrily with lots of talking over each other, and Enjolras thanked whatever gods there were, because he didn’t move nearly as silently as R did. Every time he snapped a twig or brushed against a fern and made the fronds shake, he froze, but eventually he eased himself up to sit against the boulder while three...no...maybe four voices argued a few yards away. 

“What now?” Enjolras breathed. His side was pressed against R’s so they could both fit into the hiding place. 

“We wait for Eponine to arrive.” R whispered back. He slipped a pocket watch out of a pocket in his vest and peered at it. “Minute or two more, probably.” 

They sat in silence and listened. The shape of the argument was beginning to coalesce: there were four distinct voices and they had found the loan. However, they were divided on whether to give all of what they had found to their captain, or split it among themselves and say they couldn’t find it. One had suggested splitting half of it between them and giving the other half to the captain. They couldn’t agree and it was becoming heated. 

“What would you have done to me in the library? If I hadn’t gotten away?” Enjolras whispered. 

“Tied you up and gagged you until we left, most likely.” R said. Enjolras felt himself smile a little in amusement. It would have been the only properly criminal thing the crew had done since robbing the island. 

R saw him smile, “What is it?” he asked. 

“Nothing. That’s just very  _ pirate _ of you.” 

“Well, there’s a reason for that.” R said with his own smile. “Though you’re not much of a damsel, I suppose. Why do you ask anyway?”

“I’d just never thought about it before now, and I wondered.” 

They sat in silence for another moment and listened to the men on the other side of the boulder. 

“If you’re curious about that sort of thing…” R punctuated his words with a shrug. 

“What sort of thing?” 

“I mean if you were  _ interested _ in playing those roles in a, ah, certain environment…”

Before Enjolras could drive an elbow into his ribs, the men suddenly went quiet. Then, loud enough that they could hear it from the opposite end of the clearing, twigs cracked and leaves shook with someone approaching who didn’t know how, or didn’t want to appear to know how, to sneak around. 

“Put the gun away, you fool,” One of the men said, “it’s just a woman.”

“You tell me then, what’s a woman doing out here?” 

“Aye, lass! That’s it, it’s all right. Tell us your name and what you’re doing so far from home?” 

Then a voice entirely unlike Eponine’s, high and quavering and weak, answered. 

“Please! Please don’t hurt me! Pirates, they kidnapped me from my father’s fishing boat, and I….I just want to go home! They stopped here for water, and when we came ashore I ran away, but I got lost, and…and…” Eponine hiccupped once and burst into tears, big gulping sobs like a child.

“God, she’s good.” R murmured. He lifted himself up slightly and craned his neck to look over the boulder. “Alright. Showtime.” 

There were four men, career pirates by their clothes and weathered faces. All were gathered around Eponine at the edge of the clearing where she had come into view. With her hair streaming over her shoulders, her face stained with tears, and, Enjolras noticed, absent her belt with her two holsters and knives, she looked like a young girl lost, alone, and barely old enough to be courted. Two of the pirates had taken off their hats at her entrance, and one was offering her his handkerchief. And there, in the middle of the clearing, already discovered, was a chest the size of a spaniel. The lid was open and the silver pieces inside glittered in the sunlight. 

R stepped slowly out into the open first, and then Enjolras followed. For now the other pirates were focused on Eponine, but they had to move quickly while the shock of her was still fresh. Her story about her poor father with no money for a ransom dissolved into another swell of tears as they reached the chest. R shook his head when he went to close the lid, they couldn’t risk the hinges squeaking, he realized, and gestured to the handles on either side of the chest. On a silent count of three, he and R each grasped a handle and lifted. It was heavy, too heavy to be lifted by one person, and R jerked his head back toward the boulder. 

The plan would have been to get out of sight, and then for Bahorel to shoot from under cover: hopefully the pirates would scatter, Eponine would run back to the trees, and Bahorel would keep shooting to buy everyone some time to run. But the chest was old, weathered by time and the salt air and sand, and the coins inside had grown too heavy for it. Enjolras felt his handle strain a half second before it happened, and he reached to try and grab the underside of the chest, but he was too late. The rusted nails holding the handle to the wood broke and Enjolras was left grasping a piece of metal as the chest crashed to the ground and silver scattered over the sandy dirt. 

For a second no one moved. The four pirates and Eponine looked at the broken chest, Enjolras looked at the broken handle still in his hand, and R looked at Enjolras. 

“That’s going to be a problem.” R said faintly. 

“Oy!” One of the pirates advanced on them, and as two more followed, Eponine pulled one’s sword out of its sheath, and the pistol out of the other’s holster. The fourth got his sword out first, but cried out as a dagger buried itself in his shoulder and Bahorel emerged from the brush already with another in his hand ready to throw. R unsheathed his sword, and ran to help Eponine who was dueling two men at once, and the fight began in earnest. 

The pirate who had turned first ran at Enjolras with his sword bared. Enjolras drew out the long knife R had given him before meeting Thenardier and threw it up just in time to block the sword from going through his head. Then he blocked again, and again, and again. Behind him R was fighting one of the pirates and Bahorel and Eponine were busy with another. The one with the knife in his shoulder had disappeared, and Enjolras remembered afresh what he’d been thinking about the whole hike: the pirate he was frantically dodging was not like R, did, in fact, want to hurt him, and that he was going to have to get himself through this fight. 

Enjolras could keep dodging the blocking attacks and tire the other pirate out, but the clearing wasn’t large enough to do that without leading him into the path of one of his friends. His knife was long, but it wasn’t a sword, which meant if he wanted to attack, he’d have to get close to the other man, and if he wanted to get close without leaving himself open to being stabbed, he would have to be fast. As he twisted away and his knife blocked the pirate’s sword with another crash of steel, a lesson from one of the Navy commanders who taught swordplay rose up from the back of his mind. He’d said that swordsmanship wasn’t about speed, but about precision and timing: that speed accomplished haste and fatigue, but precision at the opportune time was what won duels. 

Enjolras spun away from the pirate’s blade again and felt it whistle through the air where he had just stood. The pirate wasn’t guarding himself during his attacks. He threw his sword down at Enjolras in great arcs that took all Enjolras’ strength to block, but they left him open and unguarded while his sword was moving. There was a haphazard rhythm to it. Enjolras blocked the pirate’s sword again and when he raised it up for another blow, Enjolras spun closer instead of away and sunk his knife into the other man’s shoulder. 

Stabbing someone took more force than he had thought, Enjolras realized. The wound he made wasn’t overly deep, but it was his dominant shoulder, and it made the other pirate drop his sword. With all his muscle this time, Enjolras swung the knife at the man’s head, hitting him along his temple with the flat of the blade. For a moment, the man stared at him, and then Enjolras watched his eyes roll back in his head and his body collapse into the dirt. 

For a second, nothing happened, Enjolras looked down at the unconscious man and let himself breathe out. Then the crack of a gunshot shattered the air around him. The pirate with the knife in his shoulder had reappeared with a gun in one hand and a sword in the other, and he was running toward Enjolras. 

Enjolras hadn’t realized he had ducked down when the shot rang out until he tried to stand, and then the other pirate was already on him. There was a sharp pain in his ribs and then in his shoulder from the man’s boot, and then Enjolras was on the ground and the pirate had kicked the knife out of his hand. He was shaking, he realized distantly, and that made it harder to try and get up, to run, or to try to crawl away.  _ Come on _ , he willed himself to find the knife, a rock, any weapon,  _ come on _ . The other pirate had paused to scoop up a handful of silver from the chest and stuff it into one of his pockets, but now he levelled his gaze at Enjolras again. 

“You’ll not be taking this from me,” He muttered, “I worked too damn hard for it and I’ll send you to hell first.” 

Enjolras inched away, he had put barely five paces between them, but it wasn’t enough, the gun was rising again and pointing straight at him and he was going to die. 

Someone was running, he could feel the feet hitting the earth through the ground, and then R had leapt over him and launched himself at the other man with something in his eyes Enjolras hadn’t seen before. The gun went off but R didn’t stop, as he buried a knife in the man’s chest. With one hand he turned the man’s shocked, still, for the time being, living body, and with the other he slipped the gun out of the man’s hand, into his own, held it against the back of the other man’s head and pulled the trigger. 

R turned to look back at him slowly. He looked scared, Enjolras thought, which didn’t make any sense, because the other pirate was dead. Enjolras watched him move back toward him and looked over his body for blood as he knelt down. The gun had gone off, and R had been right in front of it when it happened, but he didn’t see any sign of blood. 

“Are you alright?” R asked him. 

Enjolras nodded. “My ears are ringing, but I think so.” 

“Push your sleeve up. Let me see your arm.” 

“What?” 

“Let me see your arm.” R said again, gently. “You’re bleeding.” 

He was. Through the cut in his shirt, he could see a thin long slice on his upper arm, although he had no idea when or how he had been cut. 

“I don’t feel it at all.” 

R touched his arm carefully. “That’s the adrenaline in your system. It looks shallow, though. Must have happened when that first bloke went after you. You shouldn’t even need stitches, but Joly will look at it back on the ship.”

Eponine came over and knelt down next to him to look at his arm as well. “You got your first battle scar.” She said, approvingly. “You did well, I was watching. Kept your head. That’s valuable in a fight.” 

“Except for the second one.” Enjolras said wryly.

Eponine only shrugged, “You lived, and that’s what that matters.” She shot an unreadable look at R and reached over to tug a handful of hair at the nape of his neck under his hat, somewhere between infuriated and affectionate. “You’re a mad idiot, running up the barrel of a gun like that.” 

“Why did you do that?” Enjolras asked. 

R just shrugged, “A man with a gun never expects you to run toward him.” 

Enjolras finally looked around. One of the pirates had run off, another was on the ground seemingly unconscious like the one Enjolras had hit. The last he couldn’t see for R blocking his view, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see blood beginning to stain the dirt. Bahorel was carefully rifling through the pockets of the two unconscious pirates. 

“We’d better get moving before these two wake up.” Eponine said, strapping back on her belt and holsters. “Can you stand?” 

Enjolras didn’t understand why she asked until he tried to stand and found his legs quaked. R caught him with a hand around his waist when he almost went down. 

“I’m fine.” Enjolras said, willing himself to take full, slow breaths. “Don’t look so fearful.” 

“I’ll look however I want.” R retorted gently. 

Since the chest was broken, Bahorel collected kerchiefs from the unconscious pirates and he and Enjolras divided the silver into eight makeshift purses. Tying off the cloth around the little pieces of metal helped Enjolras focus, and in another moment his ears stopped ringing and his legs felt steady again. Eponine examined the guns and knives of the other pirates to see what might be worth taking, and R fished the fistful of silver out from the dead man’s pocket. 

With the purses of coin stashed in their pockets and coats, a few extra knives in their boots, and Eponine with an extra sword, they disappeared back into the trees and made their way to the spring. Bahorel helped Enjolras properly clean the cut on his arm, first with water, then with a small flask of the strongest alcohol he’d ever smelled. 

“How is it you’re not shot?” Enjolras asked R. The other man looked up. He was crouched by the spring, splashing water on his face. 

“He missed.” R said with a shrug. 

“The gun was pointing right at you.”

R looked at Eponine, who pulled out her own pistol and the one from the dead pirate. “How much do you know about firearms?” Eponine asked as Bahorel produced a strip of clean linen to tie around his arm.

“I think you probably know the answer to that is next to nothing.” Enjolras said. 

“Here’s your first lesson then,” Eponine held both guns out for him to see. “You see the difference in the barrels here? This one,” she raised the other pirate’s gun, “wasn’t very good to begin with, and it hasn’t been taken care of, which hasn’t helped. It’s only accurate at point blank range, and even then there’s a margin for error, which our captain seems to have fallen into.”

Enjolras nodded and looked to R. “That’s how you knew you could overtake him.” He said. “Because you knew the odds of him hitting you weren’t in his favor.” 

R nodded. “You pick up a thing or two in his business. Like how not to get killed.” 

It still didn’t sit quite right, but as it had only been the second fight of his life, Enjolras didn’t argue. If something was being hidden, it would eventually surface, if he paid attention. The path back was clear from their trampling and cutting through on their way up, and they made it back to the beach in half the time. As the blinding sand came into sight through the trees, Enjolras saw Eponine turn to R. They had gotten a few paces ahead, but not far enough to be completely out of earshot. 

“You’ve picked up how not to get killed, is that it then?” Eponine hissed. Enjolras kept his face pointed at the ground or at his arm, as if he were checking the bandage. 

R only shrugged and Eponine hissed again. “You’re rubbish with guns. I don’t think you knew he was going to miss at all, and you still ran straight at him. You could have gotten yourself killed”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” R murmured back. Before he could say more, Bahorel stepped on a twig that cracked so loud Eponine and R seemed to remember they were part of a group. The forest opened up to the beach and they stepped out onto the sand and Enjolras had to squint to see ahead of him. 

“Alright, everyone, quick and quiet.” Eponine said under her breath as they approached the little rowboat they’d left on the shore. The other pirate captain and his first mate were still waiting, and the captain was looking into the trees suspiciously. “R, say something about getting the water barrels.” Eponine prodded. 

“Get the oars up, there’s a quick lad.” R said to them vaguely. Turning toward the other captain he shrugged, “Forest is so thick in there, easy to get turned around. Found the spring though. Now to bring the barrels ashore for filling.” His confidence and swagger were somewhat undercut by bending over to push the boat into the water alongside Bahorel as he muttered to them, “Go. Go, go, go, go, go, go,  _ go _ .”

They were paddling hard for the ship when a cry came up from the beach. Looking over his shoulder and trying to row at the same time, Enjolras saw a man running down the beach toward the captain. 

“One of them ran away during the fight, didn’t he?” He said, “I think he’s come back.”

“Balls.” Eponine muttered. 

“What do we do?”

“Row faster.” 

Enjolras remembered the first time he had taken an oar and how his arms and shoulders had shook and shuddered. Now they only burned as he pushed his oar through the water taking them closer to the ship. Shots came from the beach, and he ducked instinctively as bullets screamed into the waves behind them. 

“Keep rowing!” Eponine ordered the boat, and they kept rowing. The pirates on the shore pushed their boat into the water and started for their ship as Enjolras clambered up the rope ladder Bossuet let down, pulled himself over the deck railing and turned to pull Eponine in as well. Feuilly and Bossuet began hauling in the anchor, and R called the crew under the mast to raise the sails. 

The other ship slowly raised its sails and began the chase, but with Eponine at the helm, they were faster. First the other ship, then the island itself winked out of sight. Musichetta took over the helm, and the four of them that had gone ashore retreated below deck to wash. Enjolras hadn’t realized how dirty he’d gotten crawling through the forest until he shook the dust and sand out of his hair and changed his clothes. 

That night they told the whole story to the rest of the crew over a stew Feuilly made, and Marie set up camp in R’s lap. Jehan let himself be persuaded to retrieve a fiddle from his quarters, and played until the sun began to sink into the western water. 

Before they turned in, and Bossuet and Musichetta took the night shift, Eponine proposed a toast. 

“You’ve added the silver we got today to the lot, Joly?” She asked. 

“We are officially at ransom. Over, actually.” Joly said, passing a bottle of rum around with a stack of tin cups. Eponine’s shoulders relaxed a little from where they had crept up toward her ears. 

“All we have to do now is make it to the  _ Sisters _ on and do the exchange.” R said. 

“Easier said than done.” Eponine retorted, but she was still smiling. Together, they raised their splashes of rum together. Enjolras barely winced now at the liquor, so long as it was in small doses. 

“Before we forget, Enjolras,” Eponine said. She still had the sword stolen from the other pirates earlier in the day, and when Enjolras turned to her, she was unclasping it from where it had been strapped next to her own blade at her side. 

“Everyone on the crew has one. Now you do as well.” She said holding it out to him. 

“Thank you.” He said. His voice cracked a little, probably from the rum. 

Eponine just shrugged and patted him on the arm without the bandage. “Technically speaking, you should have had one from the start, except we didn’t have any spares.” Bossuet chimed in. The sword was simple, dull, a little heavy, but sharp. It had seen heavy use, and it was prepared for more. Enjolras fastened it to his belt that night, and it stayed there for the next few weeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took awhile, comrades. Not least because a) the US election happened, b) then it just KEPT happening, and c) when I went in for the pre-post rewrite of this chapter I found some blank space and "write here: the island and getting the loan." Thanks, past-me, I guarantee this is going to happen again. 
> 
> If you've read this far: blessings on your house. Thank you so much for reading my procrastinating, pirate fun, and I hope it's bringing some light to your day.


End file.
